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THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 
Two Copies Received 

JUN. 21 1901 


Copyright entry 
CLASS <^XXc. N». 


COPY B. 


Copyright, 1901, 

By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


This book is specially dedicated to the hoys 
of the elementary schools between the ages of 
nine and thirteen years, and might be entitled: 

The Story of a Scholastic Year written by a 
Pupil of the Third Class of an Italian Munici- 
pal School.’’ In saying written by a pnpil of 
the third class, I do not mean to say that it was 
written by him exactly as it is printed. He 
noted day by day in a copy-book, as well as 
he knew how, what he had seen, felt, thought, 
in the school and outside the school; his father 
at the end of the year wrote these pages on 
those notes, taking care not to alter the thought, 
and preserving, when it was possible, the words 
of his son. Four years later the boy, being 
then in the lyceum, read over the MSS. and 
added something of his own, drawing on his 
memories, still fresh, of persons and of things. 

How read this book, boys; I hope that you 
wall be pleased with it, and that it may do you 
good. 


EDMOHDO He AMICIS. 





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CONTENtS. 


OCTOBER. Page. 

The First Day of School . . . 3 

Our Master 5 

An Accident 7 

The Calabrian Boy 9 

My Schoolmates 11 

A Generous Deed 13 

My Schoolmistress of the Upper First 15 

In an Attic 18 

The School 20 

The Little Patriot of Padua 21 

The Chimney-Sweep 24 

The Day of the Dead 27 

NOVEMBER. 

My Friend Garrone 29 

The Charcoal-Man and the Gentleman 31 

My Brother’s Schoolmistress 33 

My Mother 36 

My Friend Coretti 38 

The Principal 42 

The Soldiers 45 

Nelli’s Protector 47 

The Head of the Class 50 

The Little Vidette of Lomhardy 52 

The Poor 58 

DECEMBER. 

The Trader 61 

Vanity 63 

The First Snow-Storm 65 

Muratorino, the Little Mason 67 

V 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


, Page. 

A Snowball 70 

The Schoolmistresses 73 

The Wounded Man 75 

The Little Florentine Scribe 77 

Will 87 

Gratitude 89 

JANUARY. 

The Assistant Master 91 

Stardi’s Library 93 

The Blacksmith’s Son 95 

A Fine Visit 98 

The Funeral of Vittorio Emanuele 100 

Franti Expelled from School 102 

The Sardinian Drummer-Boy 104 

The Love of Country 115 

Envy 117 

Franti’s Mother 119 

Hope 121 

FEBRUARY. 

A Medal Well Bestowed 124 

Good Resolutions 127 

The Train of Cars 129 

Pride 131 

The Wounds of Labor 134 

The Prisoner 13G 

Daddy’s Nurse 140 

The Workshop 151 

The Little Clown 154 

The Last Day of the Carnival 159 

The Blind Boys 102 

The Sick Teacher , 170 

The Street 173 

MARCH. 

The Evening School 175 

The Fight 178 


CONTENTS. 


vii 

Page. 

The Boys’ Parents 180 

Number 78 182 

A Little Dead Boy 185 

The Eve of the Fourteenth of March 187 

The Distribution of Prizes 189 

The Quarrel 195 

My Sister 198 

Blood of Romagna 199 

The Little Mason on His Sick-Bed 209 

Count Cavour 212 

APRIL. 

Spring 215 

King Umberto 217 

The Infant Asylum 22,3 

Gymnastics 228 

My Father’s Teacher 231 

Convalescence 244 

Friends Among the Workingmen 24G 

Garrone’s Mother 248 

Giuseppe Mazzini 250 

Civic Valor 253 

MAY. 

Children with the Rickets 2C0 

Sacrifice 262 

The Fire 265 

From the Apennines to the Andes 270 

Summer 313 

The Poetic Side 315 

The Deaf-Mute 317 

JUNE. 

Garibaldi 329 

The Army 331 

Italy 333 

Thirty-Two Degrees 335 

My Father 337 


CONTENTS. 


viii 

• Page. 

In the Country 339 

The Distribution of Prizes to the Workingmen. 344 

My Dead Schoolmistress 347 

Thanks 350 

The Shipwreck 352 

JULY. 

The Last Page from my Mother 360 

The Examinations 361 

The Last Examination 364 

Farewell 367 


HEAKT. 


AN ITALIAN SCHOOLBOY’S JOURNAL. 


OCTOBER. 




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OCTOBER. 


THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. 

Monday, 17th. 

To-day is the first day of school. The three 
months of vacation in the country have passed like 
a dream. This morning my mother took me to the 
Baretti schoolhouse to have me enter for the third 
elementary grade : I was thinking of the country, 
and went unwillingly. 

The streets were swarming with hoys: the two 
book-shops were thronged with fathers and 
mothers who were purchasing bags, portfolios, 
and copy-books, and in front of the school so many 
people had collected, that the beadle and the 
policeman found it hard to keep the entrance clear. 
Near the door, I felt myself touched on the 
shoulder: it was my master of the second grade, 
cheerful, as usual, and with his red hair ruffled. 
He said to me : — 

So we are to part forever, Enrico? ” 

I knew it well, yet the words pained me. 

We made our way in with difficulty. Ladies, 
gentlemen, women of the people, workmen, offi- 
cials, nuns, and servants, all leading boys with one 
hand, and holding the promotion books in the 
other, filled the anteroom and the stairs, making 
such a buzzing, that it seemed like entering a 
theatre. I was glad to see once more that large 
room on the ground floor, with the doors leading 


4 


OCTOBER. 


to the seven classes, where I had passed nearly 
every day for three years. There was a throng of 
teachers going and coming. My schoolmistress of 
the first upper class greeted me from the door of 
the class-room, and said : — 

Enrico, you are going to the floor above, this 
year. I shall not even see you pass by any more ! ” 
And she gazed sadly at me. 

The principal was surrounded by women who 
were much worried because there was no room for 
their sons; and it struck me that his beard was a 
little whiter than it had been last year. I found 
the boys had grown taller and stouter. On the 
ground floor, where the divisions had already been 
made, there were little children of the first and 
lowest section, who did not want to enter the class- 
rooms, and who pulled back like donkeys: they 
had to be dragged in by force, and some ran away 
from the benches; others, when they saw their 
parents leave, began to cry, and the parents had 
to go back and comfort them, or take them away; 
while the teachers were in despair. 

My little brother was placed in the class of Mis- 
tress Delcati: I was put with Master Perboni, up 
stairs on the first floor. 

At ten o’clock w^e were all in our classes: fifty- 
four of us; only fifteen or sixteen of my com- 
panions of the second class, among them, Derossi, 
the one who always gets the first prize. 

The school seemed so small and gloomy to me 
when I thought of the woods and the mountains 
where I had passed the summer ! I thought again, 
too, of my master in the second class, who was so 



LITTLE CHILDREN OF THE FIRST AND LOWEST SECTION, 







OUR MASTER. 


5 


good, and who always smiled at us, and was so 
small that he seemed to be one of us ; and I grieved 
that I should no longer see him, with his tumbled 
red hair. Our present teacher is tall ; he has no 
beard; his hair is gray and long; and he has a 
straight line running crosswise on his forehead. 
He has a big voice, and he looks at us fixedly, one 
after the other, as though' he were reading our 
very thoughts; and he never smiles. I said to my- 
self : This is my first day. There are nine 

months more. What work, what monthly ex- 
aminations, what weariness ! I wanted to see 
my mother when I came out, and I ran to kiss her 
hand ! She said to me : — 

Courage, Enrico ! we will study together.’^ 
And I returned home content. But I no longer 
have my master, with his kind, merry smile, and 
school does not seem so nice to me as it did before. 


OUE MASTER. 


Tuesday, 18th. 

I like my new teacher too, since this morning. 
While we were coming in, and when he was already 
seated, some of his scholars of last year every 
now and then peeped in at the door to salute him; 
they would present themselves and greet him : — 
“ Good morning. Signor Teacher ! “ Good 

morning. Signor Perboni ! 

Some came in, touched his hand, and ran away. 
It was plain that they liked him, and would have 


6 


OCTOBER. 


been glad to return to him. He responded, 
“ Good morning/^ and shook the hands which were 
held out to him, but he looked at no one ; at every 
greeting his smile remained serious, with that deep 
wrinkle on his brow, with his face turned towards 
the window, and staring at the roof of the house 
opposite; and instead of being cheered by these 
greetings, he seemed to suffer from them. Then 
he looked at us closely, one after the other. While 
he was dictating, he got down and walked among 
the benches. Catching sight of a boy whose face 
was all red with little pimples, he stopped dic- 
tating, took the lad’s face between his hands and 
examined it ; then he asked him what was the mat- 
ter with him, and laid his hand on his forehead, to 
feel if it were hot. Meanwhile, a boy behind him 
got up on the bench, and began to play the 
marionette. The teacher turned round suddenly ; 
the boy sat down at one dash, and remained there, 
with head hanging, in dread of being punished. 
The master placed one hand on his head and said 
to him : — 

Don’t do so again.” Nothing more. 

Then he returned to his table and finished the 
dictation. When he was done, he looked at us a 
moment in silence; then he said, very, very slowly, 
with his big but kind voice : — 

“ Listen. We have a year to pass together; let 
us see that we pass it well. Study and be good. I 
have no family; you are my family. Last year I 
had a mother ; she is dead. I am left alone. I have 
no one but you in all the world; I have no other 
affection, no other thought than you : you must be 
my sons. I wish you well, and you must like me 


AN ACCIDENT. 


7 


too. I do not wish to be obliged to punish any 
one. Show me that you are boys of heart: our 
school shall be a family, and you shall be my 
comfort and my pride. I do not ask you to give 
me a promise; I am sure that in your hearts you 
have already answered ^ yes,^ and I thank you.’’ 

Just then the beadle came in to announce the 
close of school. We all left our seats as quietly 
as could he. The hoy who had stood up on the 
bench went up to the master, and said to him, 
in a trembling voice : — 

Forgive me. Signor Master.” 

The master kissed him on the brow, and said. 
Go, my son.” 


AN ACCIDENT. 

Friday, 21st. 

The year has begun with an accident. On my 
way to school this morning I was repeating to my 
father the words of our teacher, when we noticed 
that the street was full of people, who were press- 
ing close to the door of the schoolhouse. Sud- 
denly my father said: — 

^^An accident ! The year is beginning badly ! ” 
We passed through with some difficulty. The 
big hall was crowded with parents and children, 
whom the teachers had not succeeded in placing in 
the class-rooms, and all were turning towards the 
principal’s room, and we heard the words, Poor 
boy ! Poor Eobetti ! ” 

Over their heads, at the end of the room, we 
could see the helmet of a policeman, and the bald 


8 


OCTOBER. 


head of the principal; then a gentleman with a 
tall hat entered, and all said, That is the doctor.” 
My father inquired of a master, “ What has hap- 
pened? ” — wheel has passed over his foot,” 
replied the latter. His foot has been crushed,” 
said another. He was a boy belonging to the sec- 
ond class, who, on his way to school through the 
Dora Grossa street, seeing a little child of the 
lowest class, who had run away from its mother, 
fall down in the middle of the street, a few paces 
from an omnibus which was bearing down upon 
it, had hastened forward boldly, caught up the 
child, and placed it in safety; but, as he had not 
withdrawn his own foot quickly enough, the wheel 
of the omnibus had passed over it. He is the son 
of a captain of artillery. 

While we were being told this, a woman entered 
the big hall, like mad, and forced her way through 
the crowd : she was Eobetti’s mother, who had been 
sent for. Another woman hastened towards her, 
and flung her arms about her neck, with sobs: it 
was the mother of the baby who had been saved. 
Both flew into the room, and a desperate cry made 
itself heard : Oh my Giulio ! My child ! ” 

At that moment a carriage stopped before the 
door, and a little later the director made his ap- 
pearance, with the boy in his arms; the latter 
leaned his head on his shoulder, with pallid face 
and closed eyes. Every one stood very still; the 
sobs of the mother were audible. The director 
paused a moment, quite pale, and raised the boy 
up a little in his arms, in order to show him to the 
people. And then the masters, mistresses, parents. 


THE CALABRIAN BOY. 


9 


and boys all murmured together : Bravo, Eobetti ! 
Bravo, poor child! and they threw kisses to him; 
the mistresses and boys who were near him kissed 
his hands and his arms. He opened his eyes and 
said, My satchel 1 The mother of the little boy 
whom he had saved showed it to him and said, 
amid her tears, I will carry it for you, my dear 
little angel; I will carry it for you.’" And in the 
meantime, she bore up the mother of the wounded 
boy, who covered her face with her hands. They 
went out, placed the lad comfortably in the car- 
riage, and the carriage drove away. Then we all 
entered school in silence. 


THE CALABEIAN BOY. 

Saturday, 22d. 

Yesterday afternoon, while the master was tell- 
ing us the news of poor Eobetti, who will have to 
go on crutches, the director entered with a new 
pupil, a lad with a very brown face, black hair, 
large black eyes, and thick eyebrows which met 
on his forehead: he was dressed entirely in dark 
clothes, with a black morocco belt round his waist. 
The director went away, after speaking a few 
words in the master’s ear, leaving beside the latter 
the boy, who glanced about with his big black eyes 
as though frightened. The master took him by 
the hand, and said to the class : — 

^‘You ought to be glad. To-day there enters 
our school a little Italian born in Eeggio, in Gala- 


10 


OCTOBER. 


bria, more than five hundred miles from here. 
Love your brother who has come from so far away. 
He was born in a glorious land, which has given 
illustrious men to Italy, and which now furnishes 
her with stout laborers and brave soldiers; in one 
of the most beautiful lands of our country, where 
there are great forests, and great mountains, in- 
habited by people full of talent and courage. Treat 
him well, so that he shall not feel that he is far 
away from the city in which he was born; make 
him see that an Italian boy, in whatever Italian 
school he sets his foot, will find brothers there.^^ 
So saying, he rose and pointed out on the wall 
map of Italy the spot where lay Reggio, in Cala- 
bria. Then he called: — 

“ Ernesto Derossi ! ’’ — the boy who always gets 
the first prize. Derossi rose. 

“ Come here,” said the master. Derossi left his 
bench and stepped up to the little table, facing 
the Calabrian. 

‘^As the head of the class,” said the master to 
him, give a welcome to this new companion, in 
the name of the whole school — the embrace of 
the sons of Piedmont to the son of Calabria.” 

Derossi embraced the Calabrian, saying in his 
clear voice, Welcome ! ” and the other kissed him 
impetuously on the cheeks. All clapped their 
hands. ‘^Silence!” cried the master; ^^we don’t 
clap hands in school ! ” But it was clear that he 
was pleased. And the Calabrian was pleased also. 
The master gave him a place, and went with him 
to the bench. Then he said again : — 


MY SCHOOLMATES. 


11 


Bear well in mind what I have said to yon. In 
order that this case might occur, that a Calabrian 
boy should be as though in his own house at Turin, 
and that a boy from Turin should be at home in 
Calabria, our country fought for fifty years, and 
thirty thousand Italians died. You must all re- 
spect and love each other; but any one of you who 
should give offence to this comrade, because he 
was not born in our province, would render himself 
unworthy of ever again raising his eyes from the 
earth when he passes the tricolored flag.” 

Hardly was the Calabrian seated in his place, 
when his neighbors presented him with pens and a 
picture; and another boy, from the last bench, 
sent him a Swiss postage-stamp. 


MY SCHOOLMATES. 

Tuesday, 25th. 

The boy who sent the postage-stamp to the Ca- 
labrian is the one I like best of all. His name is 
Garrone: he is the biggest boy in the class; he is 
about fourteen years old; his head is large, his 
shoulders broad; he is good, as one can see when 
he smiles; but it seems as though he always 
thought like a man. I already know several of my 
classmates. Another one I am taken with is named 
Coretti, and he wears chocolate-colored trousers 
and a catskin cap: he is always jolly; he is the son 
of a huckster of wood, who was a soldier in the 
war of 1866, in the squadron of Prince Umberto, 


12 


OCTOBER. 


and they say that he has three medals. There is 
little Nelli, a poor hunchback, a weak boy, with a 
thin face. There is one who is very well dressed, 
who always wears fine Florentine plush, and is 
named Votini. On the bench in front of me there 
is a boy who is called Mnratorino the little 
mason ’’) because his father is a mason : his face is 
as round as an apple, with a nose like a small ball ; 
he possesses a special talent: he knows how to 
make a hare’s face, and they all get him to do it, 
and then they laugh. He wears a little ragged cap, 
which he carries rolled up in his pocket like a 
handkerchief. Beside Muratorino sits Garoffi, a 
long, thin, silly fellow, with the nose and beak of 
a screech-owl, and very small eyes, who is always 
trading in little pens and images and match-boxes, 
and who writes the lesson on his nails, in order 
that he may read it on the sly. Then there is a 
young gentleman. Carlo Nobis, who seems very 
haughty; and he is between two boys I like, — one 
the son of a blacksmith, clad in a jacket which 
reaches to his knees, who is pale, as though from 
illness, who always has a frightened air, and who 
never laughs; and the other with red hair, who 
has a withered arm, and carries it hung in a sling 
from his neck; his father has gone away to 
America, and his mother goes about peddling pot- 
herbs. And there is another curious fellow, — my 
neighbor on the left, — Stardi — small and thick- 
set, with no neck, — a gruff fellow, who speaks to 
no one, and doesn’t seem to understand much, but 
stands watching the master without winking, his 
brow lined with wrinkles, and his teeth set; and 


A GENEROUS DEED. 


13 


if he is questioned when the master is speaking, 
he makes no reply the first and second times, and 
the third time he gives a kick. And beside him 
there is a hold, cunning face, belonging to a boy 
named Franti, who has already been expelled from 
another district. There are, in addition, two 
brothers who are dressed exactly alike, who re- 
sembte each other to a hair, and both of whom 
wear caps of Calabrian cut, with a peasant’s plume. 
But handsomer than all the rest, the one who has 
the most talent, w^ho will surely be the head this 
year also, is Derossi; and the master, who has al- 
ready perceived this, always questions him. But 
I like Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, the one 
with the long jacket, who seems sickly. They say 
that his father beats him; he is very timid, and 
every time that he addresses or touches any one, 
he says, ‘‘ Excuse me,” and gazes at them with his 
kind, sad eyes. But Garrone is the biggest and 
the best. 


A GENEEOUS DEED. 

Wednesday, 26th. 

It was this very morning that Garrone let us 
know what he is like. When I entered the school 
a little late, because the mistress of the upper first 
had stopped me to inquire at what hour she could 
find me at home, the master had not yet come, 
and three or four boys were teasing poor Crossi, 
the one with the red hair, who has a dead arm, and 
w'hose mother sells vegetables. They were poking 


14 


OCTOBER. 


him with rulers, hitting him ih the face with 
chestnut shells, and making him out to he a cripple 
and a monster, by mimicking him, with his arm 
hanging in the sling. And he, alone on the end 
of the bench, and quite pale, was gazing now at 
one and now at another with beseeching eyes, that 
they might leave him in peace. But the others 
mocked him worse than ever, and he began to 
tremble and to turn red with rage. All at once, 
Franti, the boy with the bad face, sprang upon a 
bench, and pretending that he was carrying a 
basket on each arm, he aped the mother of Crossi, 
when she used to come to wait for her son at the 
door; for she is ill now. Many began to laugh 
loudly. Then Crossi lost his head, and Seizing an 
inkstand, he hurled it at the other’s head with all 
his strength ; hut Franti dodged, and the inkstand 
struck the master, who entered at the moment, 
full in the breast. 

All flew to their places, and became silent with 
terror. 

The master, quite pale, went to his table, and 
said in a stern voice : — 

Who did it? ” 

No one replied. 

The master raised his voice, and said again. 

Who was it? ” 

Then Garrone, moved to pity for poor Crossi, 
rose abruptly and said, resolutely, It was I.” 

The master looked at him, and at the stupefied 
scholars ; then said in a quiet voice, It was not 
you.” 

And, after a moment: The guilty one shall 
not he punished. Let him rise! ” 



A GENEROUS DEED. 






MY SCHOOLMISTRESS OF UPPER FIRST. 15 


Crossi rose and said, weeping, They were strik- 
ing me and insulting me, and I lost my head, and 
threw — 

“ Sit down,” said the-master. “ Let those who 
provoked him rise.” 

Four rose, and hung their heads. 

You,” said the master, have insulted a com- 
panion who had given you no provocation; you 
have scoffed at an unfortunate lad, you have 
struck a weak person who could not defend him- 
self. You have committed one of the basest, the 
most shameful acts with which a human creature 
can stain himself. Cowards ! ” 

Having said this, he came down among the 
benches, put his hand under Garrone’s chin, as the 
latter stood with drooping head, and having made 
him raise it, he looked him straight in the eye, 
and said, You are a noble soul.” 

Garrone profited by the occasion to murmur 
something in the ear of the master; and he, turn- 
ing towards the four culprits, said, abruptly, “I 
forgive you.” 


MY SCHOOLMISTEESS OF THE UPPER 
FIRST. 

Thursday, 27th. 

My schoolmistress kept her promise, and came 
to-day Just as I was on the point of going out with 
my mother to carry some linen to a poor woman 
recommended by the Gazette. It was a year since 


16 


OCTOBER. 


I had seen her in our house. We' all made a great 
deal of her. She is just the same as ever, — a little 
thing, with a green veil wound about her bonnet, 
carelessly dressed, and with untidy hair, because 
she has not time to adorn herself ; but with a little 
less color than last year, with some white hairs, 
and a constant cough. My mother said to her : — 

^^And your health, my dear mistress? You do 
not take sufficient care of yourself ! ” 

“It does not matter,’’ the other replied, with 
her smile, at once bright and sad. 

“ You speak too loud,” my mother added; “ you 
exert yourself too much with your boys.” 

That is true; her voice is always to be heard; I 
remember how it was when I went to school to 
her; she talked and talked all the time, so that 
the boys might not lose their attention, and she 
did not remain seated a moment. I felt quite sure 
that she would come, because she never forgets 
her pupils; she remembers their names for years. 
On the days of the monthly examination, she runs 
to ask the director what marks they have won; 
she waits for them at the entrance, and makes 
them show her their compositions, in order that 
she may see what progress they have made; and 
many, who are now in the grammar school and 
wear long trousers and a watch, still come to see 
her. 

To-day she had come back in a great state of 
excitement, from the picture-gallery, whither she 
had taken her boys, just as she had conducted them 
all to a museum every Thursday in years gone by, 
and explained everything to them. The poor mis- 


MY SCHOOLMISTRESS OF UPPER FIRST. 17 


tress lias grown still thinner than of old. But she 
is always brisk, and always becomes animated 
when she speaks of her school. She wanted to 
have a peep at the bed on which she had seen me 
lying very ill two years ago, and which is now 
occupied by my brother; she gazed at it for a 
while, and could not speak. She was obliged to go 
away soon to visit a boy belonging to her class, the 
son of a saddler, who is ill with the measles; and 
she had besides a package of sheets to correct, a 
whole evening’s work; and she had still a private 
lesson in arithmetic to give to the mistress of a 
shop before nightfall. 

“ Well, Enrico,” she said to me as she was going, 

are you still fond of your schoolmistress, now 
that you do hard sums and write long composi- 
tions?” She kissed me, and called up once more 
from the foot of the stairs: “You are not to 
forget me, you know, Enrico ! ” 

Oh, my kind teacher, never, never shall I forget 
you ! Even when I grow up I shall remember you 
and shall go to seek you among your boys; and 
every time I pass near a school and hear the voice 
of a schoolmistress, I shall think that I hear your 
voice, and I shall recall the two years I passed in 
your school, where I learned so many things, where 
I so often saw you ill and weary, but always 
earnest, always indulgent, in despair when any one 
was clumsy with his pen, trembling when the ex- 
aminers asked us questions, happy when we made 
a good showing, always kind and loving as a 
mother. Never, never shall I forget you, my* 
teacher ! 


2 


18 


OCTOBER. 


IN AN ATTIC. 

Friday, 28th. 

Yesterday evening I went with my mother and 
my sister Sylvia, to carry the linen to the poor 
woman recommended by the newspaper. I car- 
ried the bundle; Sylvia had the paper with the 
initials of the name and the address. We went up 
to the very roof of a tall house, and through a 
long corridor with many doors. My mother 
knocked at the last; it was opened by a thin, fair 
woman who was still young, and it instantly struck 
me that I had seen her many times before, with 
that very same blue kerchief that she wore on her 
head. 

‘‘Are you the person of whom the newspaper 
says so and so ? asked my mother. 

“ Yes, signora, I am.” 

“ Well, we have brought you a little linen.” 

The woman began to thank us and bless us, and 
could not make enough of it. Just then I noticed, 
in one corner of the bare, dark room, a boy kneel- 
ing in front of a chair, with his back turned to- 
wards us, who appeared to be writing; and he 
really was writing, with his paper on the chair and 
his inkstand on the floor. How did he manage to 
write in the dark? While I was saying this to 
myself, I suddenly recognized the red hair and the 
coarse jacket of Crossi, the son of the vegetable- 
peddler, the boy with the useless arm. I told this 
to my mother softly, while the woman was put- 
ting away the things. 


IN AN ATTIC. 


19 


Hush! ” replied my mother; perhaps he will 
feel ashamed to see you giving alms to his mother : 
don’t speak to him.” 

But at that moment Crossi turned round; I was 
embarrassed ; he smiled, and then my mother gave 
me a push, so that I should run to him and em- 
brace him. I did so : ho rose and took me by the 
hand. 

Here I am,” his mother was saying in the 
meantime to my mother, alone with this boy, my 
husband in America these seven years, and I sick 
in addition, so that I can no longer make my 
rounds with my vegetables, and earn a few cents. 
We have not even a table left for my poor Luigino 
to do his work on. When there was a bench down 
at the door, he could, at least, write on the bench ; 
but that has been taken away. He has not even 
light enough to study without ruining his eyes. 
And it is a mercy that I can send him to school, 
since the city provides him with books and copy- 
books. Poor Luigino, who would be so glad to 
study ! Unhappy woman, that I am ! ” 

My mother gave her all that she had in her 
purse, kissed the boy, and almost wept as we went 
out. And she had good cause to say to me : Look 
at that poor boy; see how he is forced to work, 
when you have every comfort, and yet study seems 
hard to you ! Ah ! Enrico, there is more merit in 
the work which he does in one day, than in your 
work for a year. It is to such that the first prizes 
should be given ! ” 


20 


OCTOBER. 


THE SCHOOL. 

Friday, 28th. 

Yes, study comes hard to you, my dear Enrico, as 
your mother says: I do not yet see you set out for 
school with that resolute mind and that smiling face 
Which I should like. You are still unwilling. But 
listen; reflect a little! How poor and pitiable your 
day would be if you did not go to school! At the end 
of a week you would beg with clasped hands that 
you might return there, for you would be eaten up 
with weariness and shame; disgusted with your 
sports and with your existence. Everybody, every- 
body studies now, my child. Think of the workmen 
who go to school in the evening after having toiled 
all the day; think of the women, of the girls of the 
people, who go to school on Sunday, after having 
worked all the week; of the soldiers who turn to 
their books and copy-books when they return ex- 
hausted from their drill! Think of the dumb and the 
blind who study, nevertheless; and last of all, think 
of the prisoners, who also learn to read and write. 
Reflect in the morning, when you set out, that at that 
very moment, in your own city, thirty thousand oitiher 
boys are going like yourself, to shut themselves up 
in a room for three hours of study. Think of the 
army of boys who, at nearly this precise hour, are 
going to school in all countries. Behold them with 
your imagination, going, going, through the lanes of 
quiet villages; through the streets of the noisy towns, 
along the shores of rivers and lakes; here beneath a 
burning sun; there amid fogs, in boats, in countries 


THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA. 


21 


which are cut with canals; on horseback on the far- 
reaching plains; in sledges over the snow; through 
valleys and over hills; across- forests and torrents, 
over the solitary paths of mountains; alone, in 
couples, in groups, in long files, all with their books 
under their arms, clad in a thousand ways, sx)eaking 
a thousand tongues, from the most remote schools in 
Russia, almost lost in the ice, to the furthermost 
schools of Arabia, shaded by palm-trees, millions and 
millions, all going to learn the same things, in a hun- 
dred varied forms. Imagine this vast, vast throng 
of boys of a hundred races, this immense movement 
of which you form a part, and remember, if this 
movement were to cease, humanity would fall back 
into barbarism; this movement is the progress, the 
hope, the glory of the world. 

Courage, then, little soldier of the immense army! 
Your books are your arms, your class is your squad- 
ron, the field of battle is the whole earth, and the 
victory is human civilization. Be not a cowardly 
soldier, my Enrico. 

Your Father. 


THE LITTLE PATEIOT OF PADUA. 

{The Monthly Story.) 

Saturday, 29th. 

I will not be a cowardly soldier/’ no ; but I 
should be much more willing to go to school if the 
master would tell us a story every day, like the one 
he told us this morning. 

'' Every month/’ said he, “ I shall tell you one; 


22 


OCTOBER. 


I shall give it to you in writing, and it will always 
be the tale of a fine and noble deed performed by 
a hoy. This one is called The Little Patriot of 
Padua: Here it is. 

French steamer set out from Barcelona, a 
city in Spain, for Genoa; there were on board 
Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, and Swiss. 
Among the rest was a lad of eleven, poorly clad, 
and alone, who always held himself aloof, like a 
wild animal, and stared at all with gloomy eyes. 
He had good reasons for looking at every one with 
forbidding eyes. Two years previous to this time 
his parents, peasants in the neighborhood of 
Padua, had sold him to a company of mounte- 
banks, who, after they had taught him how to per- 
form tricks, by dint of blows and kicks and starv- 
ing, had carried him all over France and Spain, 
beating him continually and never giving him 
enough to eat. 

On his arrival in Barcelona, being no longer 
able to endure ill treatment and hunger, and being 
reduced to a pitiable condition, he had fied from 
his slave-master and had betaken himself for pro- 
tection to the Italian consul, who, moved with 
compassion, had placed him on board of this 
steamer, and had given him a letter to the guards- 
man of Genoa, who was to send the boy back to 
his parents — to the parents who had sold him like 
a beast. The poor lad was weak and ragged. He 
had been put in the second-class cabin. Every one 
stared at him; some questioned him, but he made 
no reply, and seemed to hate and despise every 
one, to such an extent had privation and suffering 


THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA. 23 


borne him down and saddened him. Nevertheless, 
three travellers, persisting in their questions, suc- 
ceeded in making him unloose his tongue; and in 
a few rough words, a mixture of Venetian, French, 
and Spanish, he related his story. These three 
travellers were not Italians, but they understood 
him ; and partly out of compassion, partly because 
they were excited with wine, they gave him a few 
coins, jesting with him and urging him on to tell 
them other things; and as several ladies entered 
the salon at the moment, they gave him some more 
money for the purpose of making a show, and 
cried : ^ Take this ! Take this, too ! ^ as they made 
the money rattle on the table. 

The boy pocketed it all, thanking them in a low 
voice, and with his sad face, but with a look that 
was for the first time smiling and affectionate. 
Then he climbed into his berth, drew the curtain, 
and lay quiet, thinking over his affairs. With this 
money he would be able to purchase some good 
food on board, after having suffered for lack of 
bread for two years; he could buy a jacket as soon 
as he landed in Genoa, after having gone about 
clad in rags for two years; and he could also, by 
carrying it home, insure for himself from his 
father and mother a kinder greeting than would 
fall to his lot if he arrived with empty pockets. 
This money was a little fortune for him; and he 
was taking comfort out of the thought behind the 
curtain of his berth, while the three travellers 
chatted away, as they set round the dining-table in 
the second-class salon. 

'"They were drinking and discussing their 


24 


OCTOBER. 


travels and the countries which they had seen; 
and from one topic to another they began to dis- 
cuss Italy. One of them began to complain of 
the inns, another of the railways, and then, grow- 
ing warmer, they all began to speak evil of every- 
thing. One would have preferred a trip in Lap- 
land; another declared that he had found nothing 
but robbers and brigands in Italy; the third said 
that Italian officials do not know how to read. 

^ It^s an ignorant nation,^ continued the first. 

“ LA. filthy nation,^ added the second. 

^ Eob — ^ exclaimed the third, meaning to say 
^ robbers ’ ; but he was not allowed to finish the 
word: a tempest of small coin came down upon 
their heads and shoulders, fell over the table and 
the floor with a great clatter. All three sprang 
up in a rage, looked up, and received another 
handful of coppers in their faces. 

“ ^ Take back your money ! ’ said the lad, dis- 
dainfully, thrusting his head between the curtains 
of his berth ; ^ I do not accept alms from those 
who insult my country ! ^ 


THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. 

November 1st. 

Yesterday afternoon I went to the girls’ school 
building, near ours, to give the story of the boy 
from Padua to Silvia’s teacher, who wished to 
read it. There are seven hundred girls there. 
Just as I arrived, they began to come out, all 


THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. 


25 


greatly rejoiced at the holiday of All Saints and 
All Souls; and here is a fine thing that I saw: 

Opposite the door of the school, on the other 
side of the street, with his sack and scraper, stood 
a very small chimney-sweep, his face entirely 
black, with one arm resting against the wall, and 
his head supported on his arm, weeping and sob- 
bing. Two or three of the girls of the second 
grade approached him and said, What is the mat- 
ter, that you weep like this? ” But he made no 
reply, and went on crying. 

Come, tell us what is the matter with you and 
why you are crying,'^ the girls repeated. And then 
he raised his face from his arm — a baby face — 
and said through his tears that he had been to 
several houses to sweep the chimneys, and had 
earned thirty soldi, and that he had lost them, 
that they had slipped through a hole in his pocket, 
— and he showed the hole, — and he did not dare 
to return home without the money. 

^^The master will beat me,’^ he said, sobbing; 
and again dropped his head upon his arm, like 
one in despair. The children stood and stared at 
him very seriously. In the meantime, other girls, 
large and small, poor girls and girls of the upper 
classes, with their satchels under their arms, had 
come up; and one large girl, who had a blue 
feather in her hat, pulled two soldi from her 
pocket, and said : — 

I have only two soldi ; let us make a collec- 
tion.” 

‘‘1 have two soldi, also,” said another girl, 
dressed in red; ^^we shall certaintly find thirty 


26 


OCTOBER. 


soldi among us all ” ; and then ihey began to call 
out: — 

‘^Amalia! Luigia! Annina! — A soldo. Who 
has any soldi? Bring your soldi here ! 

Several had soldi to buy flowers or copy-hooks, 
and they brought them; some of the smaller girls 
gave centesimi; the one with the blue feather col- 
lected all, and counted them in a loud voice : — 

Eight, ten, fifteen I But more was needed. 
Then one larger than any of them, who seemed 
to be an assistant mistress, appeared, and gave 
half a lira; and all made much of her. Five soldi 
were still lacking. 

The girls of the fourth class are coming; they 
will have it,’^ said one girl. The members of the 
fourth class came, and the soldi showered down. 
All hurried forward eagerly; and it was beautiful 
to see that poor chimney-sweep in the midst of all 
those many-colored dresses, of all that whirl of 
feathers, ribbons, and curls. The thirty soldi were 
already obtained, but more kept pouring in; and 
the very smallest who had no money made their 
way among the big girls, and offered their bunches 
of flowers, for the sake of giving something. All 
at once the portress came out and called : — 

The Signora Directress ! ” The girls fled in 
all directions, like a flock of sparrows; and then 
the little chimney-sweep was visible, alone, in the 
middle of the street, wiping his eyes in perfect 
content, with his hands full of money, and the 
button-holes of his jacket, his pockets, his hat, 
full of flowers; and there were blossoms on the 
ground at his feet. 


THE DAY OP THE DEAD. 


27 


THE DAY OF THE DEAD. 

(All-Souls’ -Day.) 

November 2d. 

This day is sacred to the memory of the dead. Do 
you know, Enrico, that all you boys should, on this 
day, devote a thought to those who are dead? to those 
who have died for you,— for boys and little children. 
How many have died, and how many are dying con- 
tinually! Have you ever reflected how many fathers 
have worn out their lives in toil? how many mothers 
have descended to the grave before their time, worn 
out by the privations to which they have condemned 
themselves for the sake of sustaining their children? 
Do you know how many men have planted a knife in 
their hearts in despair at beholding their children in 
misery? how many women have drowned themselves 
or have died of sorrow, or have gone mad, through 
having lost a child? Think of all these dead on this 
day, Enrico. Think of how many schoolmistresses 
have died young, have pined away through the 
fatigues of the school, through love of the children, 
from whom they had not the heart to tear them- 
selves away; think of the doctors who have perished 
of contagious diseases, having bravely sacriflced 
themselves to cure the children; think of all those 
who in shipwrecks, in flres, in famines, in moments 
of supreme danger, have yielded to infants the last 
morsel of bread, the last place of safety, the last rope 
of escape from the flames, to expire content with 
their sacriflce, since they preserved the life of a little 
innocent. 


28 


OCTOBER. 


Such dead as these are countless, Enrico; every 
graveyard contains hundreds of these sainted beings, 
who, if they could rise for a moment from their 
graves, Avould cry the name of a child for whom 
they gave up the joys of youth, the peace of old age, 
their affections, their learning, their life: wives of 
twenty, men in the flower of their strength, octo- 
genarians, youths, — heroic and obscure martyrs to 
infancy,— so grand and so noble, that the earth does 
not produce as many flowers as should strew their 
graves. To such a degree are ye loved, O children! 
Think to-day on those dead with gratitude, and you 
will be kinder and more affectionate to all those who 
love you, and who toil for you, my dear, fortunate 
son, who, on the day of the dead, have, as yet, no 
one to grieve for. 


Your Mother. 


MY FRIEND GARRONE. 


29 


NOVEMBER, 


MY FRIEND GARRONE. 

Friday, 4th. 

There were but two days of vacation, yet it 
seemed a long time without seeing Garrone. The 
more I know him, the better I like him; and so 
it is with all the rest, except with the overbearing, 
who have nothing to say to him, because he does 
not permit them to bully. Every time a big boy 
raises his hand against a little one, the little one 
shouts, “ Garrone ! and the big one stops strik- 
ing him. 

His father is an engine-driver on the railway. 
Garrone began school late, because he was ill for 
two years. He is the tallest and the strongest of 
the class; he lifts a bench with one hand; he is 
always eating; and he is good. Whatever he is 
asked for, — a pencil, rubber, paper, or penknife, 
— he lends or gives it; and he neither talks nor 
laughs in school : he always sits perfectly still on a 
bench that is too narrow for him, with his spine 
curved forward, and his big head between his 
shoulders; and when I look at him, he smiles at me 
with his eyes half closed, as much as to say, Well, 
Enrico, are we friends?” 

Pie makes me laugh, because, tall and broad as 


30 


NOVEMBER. 


he is, he has a Jacket, trousers, ‘and sleeves which 
are too small for him, and too short; a cap which 
will not sta}"^ on his head; a threadbare cloak; 
coarse shoes ; and a necktie which is always twisted 
into a cord. Dear Garrone! it needs but one 
glance in his face to inspire love for him. All the 
little boys like to be near his bench. He knows 
arithmetic well. He carries his books bound to- 
gether with a strap of red leather. He has a knife, 
with a mother-of-pearl handle, which he found in 
the field for military manoeuvres, last year, and 
one day he cut his finger to the bone; but no one 
in school knew about it, and he did not breathe a 
word about it at home, for fear of alarming his 
parents. He lets us say anything to him in Jest, 
and he never takes it ill; but woe to any one who 
says to him, “ That is not true,^’ when he states a 
thing : then fire flashes from his eyes, and he ham- 
mers down blows enough to split the bench. 

Saturday morning he gave a soldo to one of the 
upper first class, who was crying in the middle of 
the street, because his own had been taken from 
him, and he could not buy his copy-book. For 
the last three days he has been working over a 
letter of eight pages, with pen ornaments on the 
margins, for the saints’ day of his mother, who 
often comes to get him, and who, like himself, is 
tall and large and sympathetic. The master is 
always glancing at him, and every time that he 
passes near him he taps him on the neck with his 
hand, as though he were a good, peaceable young 
bull. 1 am very fond of him. I am happy when 
I press his big hand, which seems like a man’s, in 


THE CHARCOAL-MAN. 


31 


mine. I am sure he would risk his life to save that 
of a comrade; that he would allow himself to be 
killed in his defence^, so clearly can I read his 
eyes; and although he always seems to be 
grumbling with that big voice of his, one feels 
that it is a voice that comes from a gentle heart. 


THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLE- 
MAN. 

Monday, 7th. 

Garrone would certainly never have said the 
words which Carlo Nobis spoke yesterday morning 
to Betti. Carlo Nobis is proud, because his father 
is a great gentleman; a tall gentleman, with a 
black beard, who is very serious, and who accom- 
panies his son to school nearly every day. Yester- 
day morning Nobis quarrelled with Betti, one of 
the smallest boys, and the son of a charcoal-man, 
and not knowing what retort to make, because he 
was in the wrong, said to him loudly, “ Yourfather 
is a tattered beggar ! ’’ Betti reddened up to his 
very hair, and said nothing, but the tears came to 
his eyes; and when he went home, he repeated the 
words to his father; so the charcoal-dealer, a little 
man, who was black all over, made his appearance 
at the afternoon session, leading his boy by the 
hand, in order to complain to the master. While 
he was making his complaint, and every one was 
silent, the father of Nobis, who was taking off his 
son^s coat at the entrance, as usual, entered on 


32 


NOVEMBER. 


hearing his name pronounced, and asked an ex- 
planation. 

This workman has come,” said the master, 
to complain that your son Carlo said to his boy, 
' Your father is a tattered beggar.’ ” 

Yobis’s father frowned and colored slightly. 
Then he asked his son, Did you say that? ” 

His son, who was standing in the middle of the 
school, with his head hanging, in front of little 
Betti, made, no reply. 

Then his father grasped him by one arm and 
pushed him forward, facing Betti, so that they 
nearly touched, and said to him, Beg his 
pardon.” 

The charcoal-man tried to interpose, saying, 
“No, no!” but the gentleman paid no heed to 
him, and repeated to his son, “ Beg his pardon. 
Eepeat my words. ‘ I beg your pardon for the 
insulting, foolish, and ignoble words which I ut- 
tered against your father, whose hand my father 
would feel honored to grasp.’ ” 

The charcoal-man made a gesture, as though to 
say, “ I will not allow it.” The gentleman did not 
heed him, and his son said slowly, in a very thread 
of a voice, without raising his eyes from the 
ground, “ I beg your pardon — for the insulting 
— foolish — ignoble — words which I uttered 
against your father, whose hand my father — 
would feel honored — to grasp.” 

Then the gentleman offered his hand to the 
charcoal-man, who shook it vigorously, and then, 
with a sudden push, he thrust his son into the 
arms of Carlo Nobis. 



THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN 






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MY BROTHER’S SCHOOLMISTRESS. 33 


Do me the favor to place them next each 
other/^ said the gentleman to the master. The 
master put Betti on Nobis’s bench. When they 
were seated, the father of Nobis bowed and went 
away. 

The charcoal-man remained standing there in 
thought for several moments, gazing at the two 
boys side by side; then he approached the bench, 
and fixed upon Nobis a look expressive of affection 
and regret, as though he were desirous of saying 
something to him, but he did not; he stretched out 
his hand to bestow a caress upon him, but he did 
not dare, and merely stroked his brow with his 
large fingers. Then he made his way to the door, 
and turning round for one last look, he disap- 
peared. 

Fix what you have just seen firmly in your 
minds, hoys,’’ said the master; ^^this is the finest 
lesson of the year.” 


MY BEOTHEE’S SCHOOLMISTEESS. 

Thursday, 10th. 

The son of the charcoal-man had been a pupil 
of that schoolmistress Delcati who had come to 
see my brother when he was ill, and who had made 
us laugh by telling us how, two years ago, the 
mother of this boy had brought to her house a big 
apronful of charcoal, out of gratitude to her for 
having given the medal to her son; and the poor 


34 


NOVEMBER. 


woman had persisted, and had not been willing to 
carry the coal home again, and had wept when she 
was obliged to go away with her apron quite full. 
And she told us, also, of another good woman, 
who had brought her a very heavy bunch of flow- 
ers, inside of which there was a little hoard of 
soldi. We had been greatly diverted in listening 
to her, and so my brother had swallowed his medi- 
cine, which he had not been willing to do before. 

How much patience is necessary with those 
boys of the lower first, all toothless, like old men, 
who cannot pronounce their r’s and s’s ! And one 
coughs, and another has the nosebleed, and an- 
other loses his shoes under the bench, and another 
bellows because he has pricked himself with his 
pen, and another one cries because he has bought 
copy-book No. 2 instead of No. 1. Fifty in a class, 
who know nothing; and all of them with those 
fiabby little hands, must be taught to write; they 
carry in their pockets bits of licorice, buttons, phial 
corks, pounded brick, — all sorts of little things, 
and the teacher has to search them; but they hide 
these objects even in their shoes. And they are 
not attentive: a fiy enters through the window, 
and throws them all into confusion; and in sum- 
mer they bring grass into school, and horn-bugs, 
which fiy round in circles or fall into the ink- 
stand, and then streak the copy-books all over with 
ink. The schoolmistress has to play mother to all 
of them, to help them dress themselves, tie up 
their pricked fingers, pick up their caps when they 
drop them, watch to see that they do not exchange 
coats, and that they do not indulge in cat-calls and 


MY BROTHER’S SCHOOLMISTRESS. 


35 


shrieks. Poor schoolmistresses! And then the 
mothers come to complain : How comes it, sig- 
norina, that my boy has lost his pen? How does 
it happen that mine learns nothing? Why is not 
my boy put on the roll of honor, when he knows 
so much? Why don’t you have that nail which 
tore my Piero’s trousers taken out of the bench? 

Sometimes my brother’s teacher gets out of 
patience with the boys ; and when she can resist no 
longer, she bites her finger, to keep herself from 
dealing a blow; she loses temper, and then she 
repents, and pets the child whom she has scolded ; 
she sends a little rogue out of school, and then 
swallows her tears, and flies into a rage with 
parents who make the little ones fast by way of 
punishment. Schoolmistress Delcati is young and 
tall, well-dressed, brown of complexion, and rest- 
less; s-he does everything as though on springs, is 
affected by a mere trifle, and at such times speaks 
with great tenderness. 

But the children become attached to you, 
surely,” my mother said to her. 

Many do,” she replied ; “ but at the end of the 
year the majority of them pay no further heed to 
us. When they are with the masters, they are al- 
most ashamed of having been with a woman 
teacher. After two years of cares, after having 
loved a child so much, it makes us feel sad to part 
from him; but we say to ourselves, ^ Oh, I am 
sure of that one; he is fond of me.’ But the vaca- 
tion over, he comes back to school. I run to meet 
him; ‘Oh, my child, my child!’ And he turns 
his head away.” Here the teacher interrupted her- 


36 


NOVEMBER. 


self. But you will not do so, little one ? she 
said, raising her humid eyes, and kissing my 
brother. You will not turn aside your head, 
will you? You will not deny your poor friend? 


MY MOTHER. 

Thursday, November 10th. 

In the presence of your brother’s teacher you failed 
in respect to your mother! Let this never happen 
again, my Enrico, never again! Your irreverent word 
pierced my heart like a point of steel. I thought of 
your mother when, years ago, sihe bent the whole of 
one night over your little bed, watching your breath- 
ing, weeping in her anguish, and with her teeth chat- 
tering with terror, because she thought that she had 
lost you; and I feared that she would lose her reason. 
And at this thought I felt a sentiment of horror at 
you. You, to offend your mother! your mother, who 
would give a year of happiness to spare you one 
hour of pain, who would beg for you, who would 
allow herself to be killed to save your life! Listen, 
Enrico. Fix this thought well in your mind. Reflect 
that you are destined to experience many terrible 
days in the course of your life: the most terrible will 
be that on which you lose your mother. A thousand 
times, Enrico, after you are a man, strong, and in- 
ured to all fates, you will invoke her, oppressed with 
an intense desire to hear her voice, if but for a mo- 
ment, and to see once more her open arms, into which 
you can throw yourself sobbing, like a poor child 


MY MOTHER. 


37 


bereft of comfort and protection. How you will then 
recall every bitterness that you have caused her, and 
with what remorse you will pay for all, unhappy 
being! Hope for no peace in your life, if you have 
caused your mother gr'ief. You will repent, you will 
beg iher forgiveness, you will venerate her memory — 
in vain; conscience will give jmu no rest; that sweet 
and gentle image will always wear for you an ex- 
pression of sadness and of reproach which will put 
your soul to torture. 

Oh, Enrico, beware! this is the most sacred of 
human affections; unhappy he who tramples it under 
foot. The assassin who respects his mother has still 
something honest and noble in his heart; the most 
glorious of men who grieves and offends her is but a 
vile creature. Never again let a harsh word issue 
from your lips, for the being who gave you life. And 
if one should ever escape you, let it not be the fear 
of your father, but let it be the impulse of your soul, 
which casts you at her feet, to beseech her that she 
will blot from your brow, with the kiss of forgive- 
ness, the stain of ingratitude. I love you, my son; 
you are the dearest hope of my life; but I would 
rather see you dead than ungrateful to your mother. 
Go away, for a little space; offer me no more of your 
caresses; I should not be able to return them from 
my heart. 


Your Father. 


38 


NOVEMBER. 


MY FRIEND CORETTI. 

Sunday, 13th. 

My father forgave me; but I was somewhat 
downcast. So my mother sent me, with the 
porteFs largest son, to take a walk on the Corso. 
Half-way down the Corso, as we were passing a 
cart which was standing in front of a shop, I 
heard some one call me by name : I turned round ; 
it was Coretti, my schoolmate, with his chocolate- 
colored clothes and catskin cap, all in a perspira- 
tion, but merry, with a big load of wood on his 
shoulders. A man who was standing in the cart 
was handing him an armful of wood at a time, 
which he took and carried into his father’s shop, 
where he piled it up in the greatest haste. 

What are you doing, Coretti? ” I asked him. 

Don’t you see ? ” he answered, reaching out his 
arms to receive the load ; I am reviewing my 
lesson.” 

I laughed; but he seemed to be serious, and, 
having grasped the armful of wood, he began to 
repeat as he ran, The conjugation of the verb — 
consists in its variations according to number — 
according to number and person — ” 

And then, throwing down the wood and pilinsr 
it, according to the time — according to the time 
to which the action refers , — ” 

And turning to the cart for another armful, 
according to the mode in which the action is enun- 
ciated.” 


MY FRIEND CORETTI. 


39 


It was our grammar lesson for the following 
day. Isn’t this a good scheme?^’ he said. I 
am putting my time to use. My father has gone 
off on business. My mother is ill. It falls to me 
to do the unloading. In the meantime, I am 
going over my grammar lesson. It is a' hard lesson 
to-day; I cannot succeed in getting it into my 
head.— My father said that he would be here at 
seven o’clock to give you your money/’ he said to 
the man with the cart. 

The cart drove off. Come into the shop a 
minute/’ Coretti said to me. I went in. It was 
a large room, full of piles of wood and fagots, with 
a steel-yard on one side. 

This is a busy day, I can assure you,” resumed 
Coretti; I have to do my work by fits and starts. 
I was writing my phrases, when some customers 
came in. I went to writing again, and behold! 
that cart arrived. I have already made two trips 
to the wood market in the Piazza Venezia this 
morning. My legs are so tired that I can hardly 
stand, and my hands are all swollen. I should be 
in a pretty pickle if I had to draw ! ” And as he 
spoke he set about sweeping up the dry leaves and 
the straw which covered the brick-paved floor. 

But where do you do your work, Coretti? ” I 
inquired. 

Not here, certainly,” he replied. Come and 
see ; ” and he led me into a little room behind the 
shop, which served as a kitchen and dining-room, 
with a table in one corner, on which there were 
books and copy-books, and work which had been 
begun. Here it is/’ he said; I left the second 


40 


NOVEMBER. 


answer unfinished: Leather is* used for shoes and 
belts, and — oh yes ! — and valises’^ And, taking 
his pen, he began to write in his fine hand. 

Is there any one here ? ” came a call from the 
shop at that moment. It was a woman who had 
come to buy some little fagots. 

‘‘Here I am!^^ replied Coretti; and he sprang 
out, weighed the fagots, took the money, ran to a 
corner to enter the sale in a shabby old account- 
book, and returned to his work, saying, “ LeVs see 
if I can finish that sentence.’^ And he wrote, 
travelling-bags, and knapsacks for soldiers. “ Oh, 
my poor coif ee is boiling over ! he exclaimed, 
and ran to the stove to take the coffee-pot from 
the fire. “It is coffee for mamma,^^ he said; “I 
had to learn how to make it. Wait a while, and 
we will carry it to her ; she will be glad to see you. 
She has been in bed a whole week. — Conjugation 
of the verb! I always scald my fingers with this 
coffee-pot. What is there that I can add after 
the soldiers’ knapsacks? Something more is 
needed, and I can think of nothing. Come to 
mamma.” 

He opened a door, and we entered another small 
room: there Coretti’s mother lay in a big bed, 
with a white kerchief wound round her head. 

“ Here is your coffee, mamma,” said he ; “ and 
this is one of my schoolmates.” 

“ Ah, brave little master ! ” said the woman to 
me; “ you have come to visit the sick, have you? ” 

Meanwhile, Coretti was arranging the pillows 
behind his mother’s back, straightening the bed- 
clothes, brightening up the fire, and driving the 
cat off the chest of drawers. 


MY FRIEND CORETTI. 


41 


“ Do you want anything else, mamma? he 
asked, as he took the cup from her. “ Have you 
taken the two spoonfuls of syrup? When it is 
all gone, I will make a trip to the apothecary’s. 
The wood is unloaded. At four o’clock I will 
put the meat on the stove, as you told me; and 
when the butter-woman passes, I will give her 
those eight soldi. Everything will go on well; 
so don’t give it a thought.” 

“ Thanks, my son ! ” replied the woman. That 
will do. Poor boy ! — he thinks of everything.” 

She insisted that I should take a lump of sugar; 
and then Coretti showed me a little picture, — the 
photograph of his father dressed as a soldier, with 
the medal for bravery which he had won in 1866, 
in the troop of Prince Umberto : he had the same 
face as his son, with the same vivacious eyes and 
merry smile. 

We went back to the kitchen. I have found 
the last answer,” said Coretti; and he added on 
his copy-book. Harness is also made of it. “ The 
rest I will do this evening; I shall sit up later. 
How happy you are, to have time to study and to 
go to walk, too ! ” And still gay and active, he 
re-entered the shop, and began to place pieces of 
wood on the horse and to saw them, saying : '' This 
is gymnastics: it is quite different from the throw 
yotir arms forward. I want my father to find 
all this wood sawed when he gets home; how 
glad he will be ! The worst part of it is that after 
sawing I make T’s and L’s which look like snakes, 
so the teacher says. What am I to do? I shall 
tell him that I have to move my arms about. The 


42 


NOVEMBER. 


important thing is to have mamma get well 
quickly. She is better to-day, thank Heaven! I 
will study my grammar to-morrow morning at 
cock-crow. Oh, here’s the cart with the logs! 
To work ! ” 

A small cart laden with logs halted in front of 
the shop. Coretti ran out to speak to the man, 
then returned : I cannot keep your company 

any longer now,” he said; farewell until to-mor- 
row. You did right to come and hunt me up. 
A pleasant walk to you ! lucky fellow ! ” 

And pressing my hand, he ran to take the first 
log, and began once more to trot hack and forth 
between the cart and the shop, with a face as fresh 
as a rose beneath his catskin cap, and so alert that 
it was a pleasure to see him. 

Lucky fellow ! ” he had said to me. Ah, no, 
Coretti, no; you are the more fortunate, because 
you study and work too; because you are of use 
to your father and your mother; because you are 
better — a hundred times better — and braver 
than I, my dear schoolmate! 


THE PEIHCIPAL. 


Friday, 18th. 

Coretti was pleased this morning, because his 
master of the second class, Coatti, a big man, with 
a huge head of curly hair, a great black beard, 
big dark eyes, and a voice like a cannon, had 
come to assist in the work of the monthly exam- 


THE PRINCIPAL. 


43 


ination. He is always threatening the boys that 
he will break them in pieces and carry them by 
the nape of the neck to the police-station; and 
he makes all sorts of frightful faces; though he 
never punishes any one, but always smiles the 
while behind his beard, so that no one can see it. 
There are eight masters in all, including Coatti, 
and a little, beardless assistant, who looks like a 
hoy. There is one master of the fourth class, 
who is lame and goes wrapped up in a big wool- 
len scarf, and who is always suffering from pains 
which he contracted when he was a teacher in the 
country, in a damp school, where the walls were 
dripping with moisture. Another of the teachers 
of the fourth is old and perfectly white-haired, 
and has been a teacher of the blind. There is 
one well-dressed master, with eye-glasses, and a 
blonde mustache, who is called the little lawyer, 
because, while he was teaching, he studied law 
and took his diploma; and he also got up a hook 
ro teach how to write letters. The one w^ho 
teaches gymnastics is of a soldierly type, and was 
with Garibaldi, and has on his neck a scar from 
a sabre wound received at the battle of Milazzo. 

Then there is the principal, who is tall and bald, 
and wears gold spectacles, and has a gray heard 
that flows down upon his breast; he dresses en- 
tirely in black, and is always buttoned up to the 
chin. He is so kind to the hoys, that when they 
enter his office, all in a tremble, because they have 
been summoned to receive a reproof, he does not 
scold them, hut takes them by the hand, and tells 
them so many reasons why they ought not to he- 


44 


NOVEMBER. 


have so, and why they should be sorry, and prom- 
ise to be good, and he speaks in such a kind man- 
ner, and in so gentle a voice, that they all come 
out with red eyes, more confused than if they had 
been punished. 

Poor head-master! he is always the first at his 
post in the morning, waiting for the scholars and 
lending an ear to the parents; and when the other 
masters are already on their way home, he is still 
hovering about the school, and looking out that 
the boys do not get under the carriage-wheels, or 
hang about the streets to stand on their heads, 
or fill their bags with sand or stones. And the 
moment he appears at a corner, so tall and black, 
flocks of boys scamper off in all directions, leav- 
ing their games of coppers and marbles, and he 
threatens them from afar with his forefinger, with 
his sad and loving air. No one has ever seen him 
smile, my mother says, since the death of his son, 
who was a volunteer in the army : he always keeps 
the latter’s portrait before his eyes, on a little 
table in his room. He wanted to go away after 
this misfortune; he wrote his resignation to the 
Municipal Council, and kept it always on his 
table, putting otf sending it from day to day, be- 
cause it grieved him to leave the boys. 

The other day he seemed undecided; and my 
father, who was in the director’s room with him, 
was just saying to him, What a shame it is that 
you are going away, Signor Director ! ” when a 
man came in to put down the name of a boy who 
was to be transferred from another schoolhouse 
to ours, because he had changed his residence. 


THE SOLDIERS. 


45 


At the sight of this boy, the principal made a 
gesture of astonishment, gazed at him for a while, 
looked at the portrait that he keeps on his little 
table, and then stared at the boy again, as he drew 
him between his knees, and made him hold up his 
head. The boy resembled his dead son. The 
principal said, It is all right,^’ wrote down his 
name, dismissed the father and son, and remained 
lost in thought. 

What a pity that you are going away ! ’’ re- 
peated my father. 

The head-master took up his resignation, tore 
it in two, and said, “ I shall remain.” 


THE SOLDIERS. 

Tuesday, 22d. 

His son had been a volunteer in the army when 
he died: this is the reason why the principal al- 
ways goes to the Corso to see the soldiers pass, 
when we come out of school. Yesterday a regi- 
ment of infantry was passing, and fifty boys be- 
gan to dance around the band, singing and beat- 
ing time with their rulers on their bags and 
satchels. We were standing in a group on the 
sidewalk, watching them: Garrone, squeezed into 
his clothes, which were too tight for him, was bit- 
ing at a large piece of bread; Votini, the well- 
dressed boy, wLo always wears Florentine plush; 


46 


NOVEMBER. 


Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, with his 
father’s jacket; the Calabrian; Mnratorino ” ; 
Crossi, with his red head; Franti, with his bold 
face; and Eobetti, the son of the artillery captain, 
the boy who saved the child from the omnibus, 
and who now walks on crutches. Franti burst 
into a derisive laugh, in the face of a soldier who 
was limping. But all at once he felt a man’s 
hand on his shoulder: he turned round; it was 
the principal. Take care,” said the master to 
him; Jeering at a soldier when he is in the ranks, 
when he can neither avenge himself nor reply, is 
like insulting a man whose hands are tied: it is 
cowardly.” 

Franti disappeared. The soldiers were march- 
ing by fours, all perspiring and covered with dust, 
and their guns were gleaming in the sun. The 
principal said : — 

You ought to wish the soldiers well, boys. 
They are our defenders, who would go to be killed 
for our sakes, if a foreign army were to menace 
our country to-morrow. They are boys too; they 
are not many years older than you; and they, too, 
go to school; and there are poor and rich among 
them, just as there are among you, and they come 
from every part of Italy. See if you can recog- 
nize them by their faces : Sicilians are passing, and 
Sardinians, and Neapolitans, and Lombards. This 
is an old regiment, one of those which fought in 
1848. They are not the same soldiers, but the 
flag is still the same. How many died for our 
country around that banner twenty years before 
you were born ! ” 


NELLI’S PROTECTOR. 


47 


Here it is ! said Garrone. And in fact, not 
far off, the flag was visible, advancing, above the 
heads of the soldiers. 

Do one thing, my sons,^^ said the head-mas- 
ter; •• make yonr scholar’s salute, with your hand 
to your brow, when the tricolor passes.” 

The flag, borne by an officer, passed before us, 
all tattered and faded, and with the medals at- 
tached to the staff. We put our hands to our 
foreheads, all together. The officer looked at us 
with a smile, and returned our salute with his 
hand. 

Bravo, boys! ” said some one behind us. We 
turned to look; it was an old man who wore in 
his button-hole the blue ribbon of the Crimean 
campaign — a pensioned officer. “ Bravo ! ” he 
said; “you have done a noble deed.” 

In the meantime, the band of the regiment had 
made a turn at the end of the Corso, surrounded 
by a throng of boys, and a hundred merry shouts 
accompanied the blasts of the trumpets, like a 
war-song. 

“ Bravo ! ” repeated the old officer, as he gazed 
upon us ; “ he who respects the flag when he is 
little will know how to defend it when he is 
grown up.” 


NELLI’S PROTECTOE. 

Wednesday, 23d. 

Nelli, too, poor little hunchback! was looking 
at the soldiers yesterday, but with an air as though 


48 


NOVEMBER. 


he were thinking, I can never be a soldier ! 
He is good, and he studies; but he is so puny and 
wan, and he breathes with difficulty. He always 
wears a long apron of shining black cloth. His 
mother is a little blonde woman who dresses in 
black. She always comes to get him at the end 
of school, so that he may not come out in the 
crowd with the others, and she pets him. At first 
many of the boys ridiculed him, and thumped 
him on the back with their bags, because he is so 
unfortunate as to be a hunchback; but he never 
offered any resistance, nor said anything to his 
mother, in order not to give her the pain of know- 
ing that her son was the laughing-stock of his 
companions. They jeered at him, and he cried 
quietly, with his head laid against the bench. 

But one morning Garrone jumped up and said. 
The first person who touches Nelli will get such 
a lick from me that he will spin round three 
times ! 

Franti paid no attention to him; the blow was 
given: and from that time forth no one ever 
touched Nelli again. The master placed Garrone 
near him, on the same bench. They have become 
friends. Nelli has grown very fond of Garrone. 
As soon as he enters the schoolroom he looks to 
see if Garrone is there. He never goes away with- 
out saying, “ Good bye, Garrone,^^ and Garrone 
does the same with him. When Nelli drops a pen 
or a book under the bench, Garrone stoops 
quickly, to prevent his stooping and tiring him- 
self, and picks it up for him. Then he helps 
him to put his things in his bag and to twist him- 


NELLI’S PROTECTOR. 


49 


self into his coat. For this Nelli loves him, and 
gazes at him constantly; and when the master 
praises Garrone he is as pleased, as though he had 
been praised himself. 

Nelli must at last have told his mother all about 
the ridicule of the early days, and what they made 
him suffer; and about the comrade who defended 
him, and how he had grown fond of the latter; 
for this is what happened this morning. The 
master had sent me to carry to the director, half 
an hour before the close of school, a programme 
of the lesson, and while I was in the office, a 
small, blonde woman dressed in black came in. 
It was Nelli’s mother. She asked: 

“ Signor Director, is there a boy named Gar- 
rone in the class with my son?” 

Yes,” replied the head-master. 

Will you have the goodness to let him come 
here for a moment? I have a word to say to 
him.” 

The principal called the porter and sent him to 
the school; and after a minute Garrone appeared 
on the threshold, with his big, close-cropped head, 
in perfect amazement. No sooner did she catch 
sight of him than the woman flew to meet him, 
threw her arms around him, and kissed him on 
the head, saying : — 

You are Garrone, the friend of my little son, 
the protector of my poor child ; it is you, my dear, 
brave boy ; it is you ! ” 

Then she searched hastily in all her pockets, 
and in her purse, and finding nothing, she de- 
tached a chain with a small cross from her neck. 


50 


NOVEMBER. 


and put it on Garrone’s neck, underneath his 
necktie, and said to him: — 

Take it ! wear it in memory of me, my dear 
boy; in memory of Nelli’s mother, who thanks 
and blesses you.” 


THE HEAD OF THE CLASS. 

Friday, 25th. 

Garrone attracts the love of all; Derossi, the 
admiration. Derossi has taken the first medal; 
he will alwa3^s be the first. This year also no one 
can compete with him; all recognize his superior- 
ity in all points. He is first in arithmetic, in 
grammar, in composition, in drawing; he under- 
stands everything at a glance; he has a marvel- 
ous memory; he succeeds in everything without 
effort. It seems as though study were play to 
him. The teacher said to him yesterday : — 
You have received great gifts from God. Be 
careful not to squander them.” 

And besides, he is tall and handsome, with a 
great crown of golden curls; he is so nimble that 
he can leap over a bench by resting one hand on 
it; and he already understands fencing. He is 
twelve years old, and the son of a merchant; he is 
always dressed in blue, with gilt buttons; he is 
always lively, merry, gracious to all, and helps 
us as much as he can in examinations. No one 
has ever dared to play a trick on him or call him 
names. 

Nobis and Eranti alone look askance at him, 
and Votini darts envy from his eyes; but he does 


THE HEAD OF THE CLASS. 


51 


not even perceive it. All smile at him, and take 
his hand or his arm, when he goes about, in his 
graceful way, to collect the work. He gives away 
illustrated papers, drawings, everything that is 
given him at home. He has made a little geo- 
graphical chart of Calabria for the Calabrian lad; 
and he gives everything with a smile, without pay- 
ing any heed to it, like a grand gentleman, and 
without favoritism for any one. It is impossible 
not to envy him, not to feel smaller than he in 
everything. 

Ah! I, too, envy him, like Votini. And I feel 
a bitterness, almost a certain scorn, for him, some- 
times, when I am striving to do my work at home, 
and think that he has already finished his cor- 
rectly, at this same moment, and without fatigue. 
But then, when I return to school, and behold 
him so handsome, so smiling and triumphant, and 
hear how frankly and confidently he replies to the 
master’s questions, and how courteous he is, and 
how the others all like him, then all bitterness, all 
scorn, departs from my heart, and I am ashamed 
of having felt that way. I should like to be aU 
ways near him at such times. I should like to be 
able to do all my school tasks with him, for his 
presence, his voice, inspire me with courage, with 
a will to work, with cheerfulness and pleasure. 

The teacher has given him the monthly story 
to copy, which will he read to-morrow, — The Lit- 
tle Vidette of Lombardy. He copied it this morn- 
ing, and was so much affected by that heroic deed, 
that his face was all aflame, his eyes moist, and 
his lips trembling. I gazed at him: how hand- 


52 


NOVEMBER. 


some and noble he was! With what pleasure 
would I not have said frankly to his face : De- 
rossi, you are worth more than I in everything! 
You are a man in comparison with me! I re- 
spect you and admire you ! 


THE LITTLE VIDETTE OF LOMBAEDY. 

{Monthly Story.) 

Saturday, 26th. 

In the year 1859, during the war for the libera- 
tion of Lombardy, — a few days after the battle 
of Solferino and San Martino, won by the French 
and Italians over the Austrians, — on a beautiful 
morning in the month of June, a little band of 
cavalry of Saluzzo was proceeding at a slow pace 
along a retired path, in the direction of the en- 
emy, and exploring the country attentively. The 
troop was commanded by an officer and a ser- 
geant, and all were gazing into the distance ahead 
of them, with eyes fixed, silent, and prepared at 
any moment to see the uniforms of the enemy’s 
advance-posts gleam white before them through 
the trees. 

In this order they arrived at a rustic cabin, sur- 
rounded by ash-trees, in front of which stood a 
solitary boy, about twelve years old, who was re- 
moving the bark from a small branch with a 
knife, in order to make himself a stick. From 
one window of the little house floated a large tri- 


THE LITTLE VIDETTE OP LOMBARDY. 53 


colored flag. There was no one inside: the peas- 
ants had fled, after hanging out the flag, for fear 
of the Austrians. As soon as the lad saw the 
cavalry, he flung aside his stick and raised his cap. 
He was a handsome boy, with a bold face, large 
blue eyes and long, golden hair. He was in his 
shirt-sleeves and his breast was bare. 

What are you doing here ? the officer asked 
him, reining in his horse. Why did you not flee 
with your family? ” 

I have no family,^^ replied the boy. I am 
a foundling. I do a little work for everybody. I 
stayed here to see the war.” 

Have you seen any Austrians pass? ” 

“Ho; not for these three days.” 

The officer paused a while in thought; then he 
leaped from his horse, and leaving his soldiers 
there, with their faces turned towards the foe, he 
entered the house and mounted to the roof. The 
house was low; from the roof only a small tract 
of country was visible. “ It will be necessary to 
climb the trees,” said the officer, and descended. 
Just in front of the garden plot rose a very lofty 
and slender ash-tree, which was rocking its crest 
in the sky. The officer stood thinking a moment, 
gazing now at the tree, and again at the soldiers; 
then, all of a sudden, he asked the lad : — 

“ Is your sight good, you monkey? ” 

“ Mine? ” replied the boy. “ I can spy a spar- 
row a mile away.” 

“ Are you good for a climb to the top of this 
tree? ” 

“ To the top of this tree? Ifll be up there in 
half a minute.” 


54 


NOVEMBER. 


And will you be able to tell me what you see 
up there — if there are Austrian soldiers in that 
direction, clouds of dust, gleaming guns, horses? 
Certainly I shalL'^ 

What do you ask for this service? 

‘‘What do I ask?'" said the lad, smiling. 
“ Nothing. A fine thing, indeed ! Now — if it 
Were for the Germans, — I wouldn’t do it on any 
terms ; but for our men ! I am a Lombard ! ” 

“ Good ! Then up with you.” 

“ Wait a moment, until I take off my shoes.” 

He pulled oft his shoes, tightened the girth of 
his trousers, flung his cap on the grass, and clasped 
the trunk of the ash. 

“ Take care, now ! ” exclaimed the officer, mak- 
ing a movement to hold him back, as though 
seized with a sudden terror. 

The boy turned to look at him, with his hand- 
some blue eyes, as though to question him. 

“No matter,” said the officer; “ up with you! ” 

Up went the lad like a cat. 

“ Keep watch ahead ! ” shouted the officer to 
the soldiers. 

In a few moments the boy was at the top of the 
tree, twined around the trunk, with his legs among 
the leaves, but his body displayed to view, and 
the sun beating down on his blonde head, which 
seemed like gold. The officer could hardly see 
him, so small did he seem. 

“ Look straight ahead and far away ! ” shouted 
the officer. 

The lad, in order to see better, removed his 
right hand from the tree, and shaded his eyes 
with it. 


THE LITTLE VIDETTE OF LOMBARDY. 55 


What do you see? asked the officer. 

The boy bent his head towards him, and, mak- 
ing a speaking-trumpet of his hand, replied, “ Two 
men on horseback, on the white road.^’ 

At what distance from here?” 

Half a mile.” . . 

“ Are they moving?.” 

They are standing cstill.” 

What else do you see? ” asked the officer, 
after a momentary silence. Look to the right.” 

The boy looked to the right. Then he said: 

“ Near the cemetery, among the trees, there is 
something glittering. It seems to be bayonets.” _ 
Do you see men? ” 

“ No. They must be hidden in the grain.” 

At that moment the sharp whiz of a bullet 
passed high up in the air, and died away in the 
distance, behind the house. 

Come down, my lad ! ” shouted the officer. 

They have seen you. I don’t want anything 
more. Come down ! ” 

I’m not afraid,” replied the boy. 

Come down ! ” repeated the officer. What 
else do you see to the left? ” 

^^To the left?” 

Yes, to the left.” 

The lad turned his head to the left. At that 
moment, another whistle, more acute and lower 
than the first, cut the air. The boy was startled. 

Deuce take them ! ” he exclaimed. They 
actually are aiming at me ! ” The bullet had 
passed at a short distance from him. 

Down ! ” shouted the officer, angrily and 
commandingly. 


56 


NOVEMBER. 


come down presently/’ replied the boy. 

But the tree shelters me. Don’t fear. You 
want to know what there is^on the left? ” 

Yes, on the left,” answered the officer; but 
come down.” 

On the left,” shouted the lad, turning his 
body in that direction, yonder, where there is a 
chapel, I think I see — ” 

A third fierce whistle passed through the air, 
and almost at the same instant the boy was seen 
to descend, catching for a moment at the trunk 
and branches, and then falling headlong with 
arms outspread. 

Curse them ! ” exclaimed the officer, running 
up. 

The boy landed on the ground, upon his back, 
and lay there with arms open and motionless; a 
stream of blood fiowed from his left side. The 
sergeant and two soldiers leaped from their horses. 
The officer bent over and opened his shirt. The 
ball had entered his left lung. 

He is dead ! ” exclaimed the officer. 

‘‘No, he still lives! ” replied the sergeant. 

“ Ah, poor boy ! brave boy ! ” cried the officer. 
“ Courage, courage ! ” But while he was saying 
“ courage,” he was pressing his handkerchief on 
the wound. 

The boy rolled his eyes wildly and dropped his 
head back. He was dead. The officer turned 
pale and stood for a moment gazing at him. He 
laid him down carefully on his cloak upon the 
grass ; then rose and stood looking at him. The ser- 
geant and two soldiers also stood motionless, gaz^ 


THE LITTLE VIDETTE OF LOMBARDY. 57 

ing upon him. The rest were facing in the direc- 
tion of the enemy. 

Poor boy ! ” repeated the officer. Poor, 
brave boy ! 

He approached the house, removed the tricolor 
from the window, and spread it like a shroud over 
the little dead boy, leaving his face uncovered. 
The sergeant collected the dead boy’s shoes, his 
cap, his little stick, and his knife, and placed them 
beside him. They stood for a few moments 
longer in silence; then the officer turned to the 
sergeant and said to him, 

“We will send the ambulance for him: he died 
as a soldier; the soldiers shall bury him.” Hav- 
ing said this, he threw a kiss to the dead boy, and 
shouted “ To horse ! ” All sprang into the sad- 
dle, the troop drew together and resumed its road. 

And a few hours later the little dead boy re- 
ceived the honors of war. 

At sunset the whole line of the Italian advance- 
posts marched forward towards the foe ; and along 
the same road which had been traversed in the 
morning by the detachment of cavalry, there pro- 
ceeded, in two files, a heavy battalion of sharp- 
shooters, who, a few days before, had valiantly 
watered the hill of San Martino with blood. The 
news of the boy’s death had already spread among 
the soldiers before they left the encampment. 
The path, flanked by a rivulet, ran a few paces 
distant from the house. When the first officers 
of the battalion caught sight of the little body 
stretched at the foot of the ash-tree and covered 
with the tricolored banner, they made the salute 


58 


NOVEMBER. 


to it with their swords, and one of them bent over 
the bank of the streamlet, which was covered with 
flowers at that spot, plucked a couple of blossoms 
and threw them on it. Then all the sharpshoot- 
ers, as they passed, plucked flowers and threw 
them on the body. In a few minutes the boy was 
covered with flowers, and officers and soldiers all 
saluted him as they passed by: 

Bravo, little Lombard ! ” Farewell, my 
lad ! I salute thee, gold locks ! Hurrah ! 

Glory!” ‘^Farewell!” 

One officer tossed him his medal for valor; an- 
other went and kissed his brow. And flowers con- 
tinued to rain down on his bare feet, on his blood- 
stained breast, on his golden head. And there 
he lay asleep on the grass, enveloped in his flag, 
with a white and almost smiling face, as though 
he heard the salutes and was glad that he had 
given his life for his Lombardy. 


THE POOR. 

Tuesday, 29th. 

To give one’s life for one’s country as the Lombard 
boy did, is a great virtue; but you must not neglect 
the lesser virtues, my son. This morning as you 
walked in front of me, when we were returning from 
.school, you passed near a poor woman who was hold- 
ing between her knees a thin, pale child, and who 
asked alms of you. You looked at her and gave her 
nothing, and yet you had some coppers in your 
pocket. Listen, my son. Do not accustom yourself 


THE POOR. 


59 


to pass carelessly by poverty wliicli stretches out its 
hand to j^ou, and far less before a mother who asks 
a copper for her child. Reflect that the child may be 
hungry; think of flie agony of that poor woman. 
Picture to yourself the sob of despair of your mother, 
if she w'ere some day forced to say, “ Enrico, I can- 
not give you even bread to-day! ” 

When I give a soldo to a beggar, and he says to me, 
“ God preserve your health, and the health of all be- 
longing to you!” you cannot understand the sweet- 
ness which these words produce in my heart, the 
gratitude that I feel for that poor man. It seems 
to me that such a good wish musit surely keep one in 
good health for a long time; and I return home con- 
tent, and think, “ Oh, that poor man has returned to 
me very much more than I gave him! ” 

Well, cause me sometimes to hear that good wish 
merited by you; draw a soldo from your little purse 
now and then, and let it fall into the hand of a blind 
man without means of subsistence, of a mother with- 
out bread, of a child without a mother. The poor 
love the alms of boys, because it does not humiliate 
them, and because boys, who stand in need of every- 
thing, resemble themselves: you see tbat there are 
always poor people around the schoolhouses. The 
alms of a man is an act of charity; but that of a 
child is at one and the same time an act of charity 
and a caress — do you understand? It is as though 
a soldo and a flower fell from your hand together. 
Reflect that you lack nothing, and that they lack 
everything; that while you aspire to be happy, they 
are content simply with not dying. Reflect, that it 
is a horror, in the midst of so many palaces, along 


60 


NOVEMBER. 


the streets thronged with carriages, and children 
clad in velvet, that there should be women and 
children who have nothing to eat. To have nothing 
to eat! O God! Boys like you, as good as you, as 
intelligent as you, who, in the midst of a great city, 
have nothing to eat, like wild beasts lost in a desert! 
Oh, never again, Enrico, pass a mother who is 
begging, without placing a soldo in her hand! 

Your Mother. 


THE TRADER. 


61 


DECEMBER. 


THE TEADEE. 

Thursday, 1st. 

My father wishes me to have some one of my 
schoolmates come to onr house every holiday, or 
that I should go to see one of them, in order that 
I may gradually become friends with all of them. 
Sunday I shall go to walk with Votini, the well- 
dressed boy who is always brushing himself up, 
and who is so envious of Derossi. In the mean- 
time, Garoffi came to the house to-day, — that 
long, lank boy, with the nose like an owFs beak, 
and small, knavish eyes, which seem to be ferret- 
ing everywhere. He is the son of a grocer, and is 
a queer fellow; he is always counting the soldi in 
his pocket; he reckons them on his fingers very, 
very rapidly, and goes through some process of 
multiplication without any tables; and he hoards 
his money, and already has a book in the Scholars’ 
Savings Bank. He never spends a soldo, I am 
positive; and if he drops a centesimo under the 
benches, he is likely to hunt for it a week. He 
does as magpies do, so Derossi says. Everything 
that he finds — worn-out pens, postage-stamps 
that have been used, pins, candle-ends — he picks 
up. He has been collecting postage-stamps for 


62 


DECEMBER. 


more than two years now ; and he already has hun- 
dreds of them from every country, in a large al- 
bum, which he will sell to a bookseller later on, 
when he has got it quite full. Meanwhile, the 
bookseller gives him his copy-books, because he 
takes a great many boys to the shop. 

In school, he is always bartering; he effects 
sales of little articles every day, and gets up lot- 
teries and exchanges; then he regrets the trade, 
and wants his stuff back again. He buys for two 
and sells for four; he plays at pitch-penny, and 
never loses; he sells old newspapers over again to 
the tobacconist; and he keeps a little blank-book, 
full of fig ares, in which he sets down his transac- 
tions. At school he studies nothing but arith- 
metic; and if he desires the medal, it is only that 
he may have a free entrance into the puppet-show. 

But he pleases me; he amuses me. We played 
at keeping a market, with weights and scales. 
He knows the exact price of everything; he un- 
derstands weighing, and quickly makes handsome 
paper horns, like shopkeepers. He declares that 
as soon as he has finished school he shall set up 
in business — in a new business which he has in- 
vented himself. He was very much pleased when 
I gave him some foreign postage-stamps; and he 
informed me exactly how each one sold for col- 
lections. My father pretended to be reading the 
newspaper; but he listened to him, and was 
greatly diverted. His pockets are bulging, full 
of his little wares; and he covers them up with a 
long, black cloak, and always appears thoughtful 
and preoccupied with business, like a merchant. 


VANITY. 


63 


But the thing that he has nearest his heart is 
his collection of postage-stamps. This is his 
treasure; and he always speaks of it as though he 
were going to get a fortune out of it. The boys 
accuse him of miserliness and usury. I do not 
know: I like him; he teaches me a great many 
things; he seems a man to me. Coretti, the son 
of the wood-merchant, says that Garofii would not 
give him his postage-stamps to save his mother’s 
life. My father does not believe it. 

‘‘ Wait a little before you condemn him,” he 
said to me ; he has this passion, but he has heart 
as well.” 


VANITY. 

Monday, 5th. 

Yesterday I went for a walk along the Kivoli 
road with Votini and his father. As we were 
passing through the Dora Grossa Street we saw 
Stardi, the boy who kicks at those who bother 
him, standing stiffly in front of the window of a 
book-shop, with his eyes fixed on a map; and no 
one knows how long he had been there, because 
he studies even in the street. He barely returned 
our salute, the rude fellow! 

Votini was well dressed — even too much so. 
He had on morocco boots embroidered in red, an 
embroidered coat, small silken tassels, a white 
beaver hat, and a watch; and he strutted. But 
his vanity was to come to a bad end this time. 
After having gone a tolerably long distance up 
the Eivoli road, leaving his father, who was walk- 


64 


DECEMBEU. 


ing slowly, a long way in the rear, we halted at a 
stone seat, beside a modestly clad boy, who ap- 
peared to be weary and moody, and who sat with 
drooping head. A man, who must have been his 
father, was walking to and fro under the trees, 
reading the newspaper. We sat down. Votini 
placed himself between me and the boy. All at 
once he recollected that he was well dressed, and 
wanted to make his neighbor admire and envy 
him. 

He lifted one foot, and said to me, Have you 
seen my officer’s boots?” He said this in order 
to make the other boy look at them; hut the lat- 
ter paid no attention. 

Then he dropped his foot, and showed me his 
silk tassels, glancing slyly at the hoy the while, 
and said that these tassels did not please him, and 
that he wanted to have them changed to silver 
buttons; but the hoy did not look at the tassels 
either. 

Then Yotini fell to twirling his handsome white 
hat on the tip of his forefinger; but the hoy — 
and it seemed as though he did it on purpose — • 
did not deign even a glance at the hat. 

Yotini, who began to he irritated, drew out his 
watch, opened it, and showed me the wheels; hut 
the boy did not turn his head. 

Is it of silver gilt?” I asked him. 

No,” he replied; it is gold.” 

But not entirely of gold,” I said ; there must 
be some silver with it.” 

Why, no ! ” he retorted ; and, in order to com- 
pel the boy to look, he held the watch before his 


THE FIRST SNOW-STORM. 


65 


face, and said to him, Say, look here ! isn't it 
true that it is entirely of gold? 

The hoy replied briefly, “ I don’t know.” 

‘‘Oh! oh!” exclaimed Votini, full of wrath, 
“ what pride ! ” 

As he was saying this, his father came up, and 
heard him; he looked steadily at the lad for a mo- 
ment, then said sharply to his son, “ Hold your 
tongue ! ” and, bending down to his ear, he added, 
“he is blind!” 

Votini sprang to his feet, with a shudder, and 
stared the boy in the face: the latter’s eyeballs 
were glassy, without expression, without sight. 

Votini stood humbled, — speechless, — with his 
eyes fixed on the ground. At length he stam- 
mered, “ I am sorry ; I did not know.” 

But the blind boy, who had understood it all, 
said, with a kind, sad smile, “ Oh, it’s no matter ! ” 

Well, Votini is vain; but his heart is not had. 
He never laughed again during the whole of the 
walk. 


THE FIRST SNOW-STORM. 

Saturday, 10th. 

Farewell, walks to Rivoli! Here is the beau- 
tiful friend of the hoys! Here is the first snow! 
Ever since yesterday evening it has been falling 
in thick flakes as large as gillyflowers. It was a 
pleasure this morning at school to see it beat 
against the panes and pile up on the window- 
sills; even the master watched it, and rubbed his 


66 


DECEMBER. 


hands; and all were glad, when they thought of 
making snowballs, and of the ice which will come 
later, and of the hearth at home. Stardi, en- 
tirely absorbed in his lessons, and with his fists 
pressed to his temples, was the only one who paid 
no attention to it. 

What beauty! What a celebration there was 
when we left school ! All danced down the 
streets, shouting and tossing their arms, catching 
up handfuls of snow, and dashing about in it, like 
poodles in water. The umbrellas of the parents, 
who were waiting outside, were all white; the 
policeman’s helmet was white; all our satchels 
were white in a few moments. Every one ap- 
peared to be beside himself with joy — even Pre- 
cossi, the son of the blacksmith, that pale boy 
who never laughs. And Kobetti, the lad who 
saved the little child from the omnibus, poor fel- 
low! jumped about on his crutches. The Cala- 
brian, who had never touched snow, made himself 
a little ball of it, and began to eat it, as though 
it had been a peach. Crossi, the son of the vege- 
table-vendor, filled his satchel with it. And 

Muratorino ” made us burst with laughter, when 
m}^ father invited him to come to our house to- 
morrow. He had his mouth full of snow, and, 
not daring either to spit it out or to swallow it, 
he stood there choking and staring at us, and 
made no answer. Even the schoolmistress came 
out of school on a run, laughing; but my mistress 
of the upper first, poor little thing! ran through 
the drizzling snow% covering her face with her 
green veil, and coughing. Meanwhile, hundreds 


MURATORINO, THE LITTLE MASON. 67 


of girls from the neighboring schoolhouse passed 
by, screaming and frolicking on that white car- 
pet. And the masters and the beadles and the 
policemen shouted, Home ! home ! ’’ swallowing 
flakes of snow, and whitening their moustaches 
and beards. But they, too, laughed at this wild 
romp of the scholars, as they celebrated the 
winter. 


You hail the arrival of winter; but there are boys 
who have neither clothes nor shoes nor fire. There 
are thousands of them, who descend to their villages, 
over a long road, carrying in hands bleeding from 
chilblains a bit of wood to warm the schoolroom. 
There are hundreds of schools almost buried in the 
snow, bare and dismal as eaves, where the boys suf- 
focate with smoke or chatter their teeth with cold as 
they gaze in terror at the white flakes which descend 
unceasingly, which pile up constantly on their 
distant cabins threatened by avalanches. You re- 
joice in the winter, boys. Think of the thousands of 
creatures to whom winter brings misery and death. 

Your Father. 


MUBATOKINO, THE LITTLE MASON. 

Sunday, 11th. 

The little mason ” came to-day, in a hunting- 
jacket, entirely dressed in the cast-off clothes of 
his father, which were still white with lime and 
plaster. My father was even more anxious than 


68 


DECEMBER. 


I that he should come. How much pleasure he 
gives us! No sooner had he entered than he 
pulled off his ragged cap, which was all soaked 
with snow, and thrust it into one of his pockets. 
He came forward with his listless gait, like a 
weary workman, turning his face, as smooth as an 
apple, with its ball-like nose, from side to side; 
and when he entered the dining-room, he cast a 
glance round at the furniture and fixed his eyes 
on a small picture of Rigoletto, a hunchbacked 
jester, and made a hare’s face.” It is impossi- 
ble to keep from laughing when he makes that 
hare’s face. 

, We went to playing with bits of wood: he is 
good at making towers and bridges, which seem 
to stand as though by a miracle, and he works at 
it quite seriously, with the patience of a man. 
Between one tower and another he told me about 
his family: they live in a garret; his father goes 
to the evening school to learn to read, and his 
mother is a washerwoman. And they must love 
him, of course, for he is clad like a poor boy, but 
he is well protected from the cold, with neatly 
mended clothes, and with his necktie nicely tied 
by his mother. His father, he told me, is a fine 
man, a giant, who has trouble in getting through 
doors; but he is kind, and always calls his son 
hare’s face ” : the son, on the contrary, is rather 
small. 

At four o’clock we lunched on bread and goat’s- 
milk cheese, as we sat on the sofa; and when we 
rose, I do not know why, but my father did not 
wish me to brush off the back, which the little 
mason had spotted with white, from his jacket; 


MURATORINO, THE LITTLE MASON. 69 


he held my hand, and then rubbed it off himself 
on the sly. While we were playing, the little mason 
lost a button from his hunting- jacket, and my 
mother sewed it on, and he grew quite red, and 
began to watch her sew, in perfect amazement and 
confusion, holding his breath the while. Then 
we gave him some albums of caricatures to look 
at, and he, without being aware of it himself, imi- 
tated the grimaces of the faces there so well, that 
even my father laughed. He was so much pleased 
when he went away that he forgot to put on his 
tattered cap; and when we reached the landing, 
he made a harems face at me once more in sign 
of his gratitude. His name is Antonio Rabucco, 
and he is eight years and eight months old. 


Do you know, my son, why I did not wish you to 
wipe off the sofa? Because to wipe it while your 
friend was looking on would have been almost the 
same as reproAung him for having soiled it. And this 
was not AA^ell, in the first place, because he did not 
do it intentionally, and in the next, because he did 
it with the clothes of his father, who had covered 
them with plaster while at work; and what comes 
from work is not dirt; it is dust, lime, varnish, what- 
ever you like, but it is not dirt. Labor does not soil 
one. Never say of a laborer coming from his work,. 
“ He is filthy.” You should say, “ He has on his 
clothes the signs, the traces, of his toil.” Remember 
this. And you must love the little mason, first, be- 
cause he is your comrade; and next, because he is 
the son of a workingman. 


Your Father. 


70 


DECEMBER. 


A SNOWBALL. 

Friday, 16th. 

And still it snows. A bad accident happened 
because of the snow, this morning when we came 
out of school. A crowd of hoys had no sooner 
got into the Corso than they began to throw balls 
of wet snow which makes missiles as solid and 
heavy as stones. Many persons were passing along 
the sidewalks. A gentleman called out, Stop 
that, you little rascals!^’; and just then a sharp 
cry rose from another part of the street, and we 
saw an old man who had lost his hat and was 
staggering about, covering his face with his hands, 
and heside him a boy who was shouting, “ Help ! 
help!^^ 

People instantly ran from all directions. He 
had been struck in the eye with a hall. All the 
boys dispersed, fleeing like arrows. I was stand- 
ing in front of the bookseller’s shop, into which 
my father had gone, and I saw several of my 
schoolmates coming at a run, mingling with 
others near me, and pretending to be engaged in 
staring at the windows: there was Garrone, with 
his penny roll in his pocket, as usual; Coretti; 

Muratorino ” ; and G aroffi, the boy with the 
postage-stamps. In the meantime a crowd had 
formed around the old man, and a policeman and 
others were running to and fro, threatening and 
demanding: “Who was it? Who did it? Was 
it ;you? Tell me who did it! ’’ and they looked at 


A SNOWBALL. 


71 


the boys’ hands to see whether they were wet with 
snow. 

Garoffi was standing beside me. I noticed that 
he was trembling all over, and that his face was 
as white as that of a corpse. “Who was it? Who 
did it ? ” the crowd continued to cry. 

Then I overheard Garrone say in a low voice 
to Garoffi, “ Come, give yourself up ; it would be 
cowardly to allow any one else to be arrested.” 

“ But I did not do it on purpose,” replied 
Garoffi, trembling like a leaf. 

“No matter; do your duty,” repeated Garrone. 

“ But I have not the courage.” 

“ Take courage, then ; I will accompany you.” 

And the policeman and the other people were 
crying more loudly than ever: “Who was it? 
Who did it? One of his glasses has been driven 
into his eye! He has been blinded! The ruf- 
fians ! ” 

I thought that Garoffi w'ould fall to the earth. 
“ Come,” said Garrone, resolutely, “ I will defend 
you ; ” and grasping him by the arm, he thrust 
him forward, supporting him as though he had 
been a sick man. The people saw, and instantly 
understood, and several persons ran up with their 
fists raised; but Garrone thrust himself between, 
crying: — 

“ Do ten men of you set on one boy? ” 

Then they ceased, and a policeman seized 
Garoffi by the hand and led him, pushing aside 
the crowd as he went, to a pastry-cook’s shop, 
where the wounded man had been carried. On 
catching sight of him, I suddenly recognized him 


72 


DECEMBER. 


as the old employee who lives on the fourth floor 
of our house with his grandnephew. He was 
stretched out on a chair, with a handkerchief over 
his eyes. 

I did not do it on purpose ! sobbed Garoffi, 
half dead with terror; I did not do it on pur- 
pose ! 

Two or three persons thrust him violently into 
the shop, crying : Down to the earth ! Beg his 
pardon ! and they threw him to the ground. 
But all at once two vigorous arms set him on his 
feet again, and a resolute voice said : — 

“Ho, gentlemen It was our principal, who 
had seen it all. “ Since he has had the courage 
to give himself up,^^ he added, “ no one has the 
right to humiliate him.’^ All stood silent. “ Ask 
his forgiveness,” said the principal to Garoffi. 
Garoffi, bursting into tears, embraced the old 
man’s knees, and the latter, having felt for the 
boy’s head with his hand, caressed his hair. Then 
all said : — 

“ Go, boy ! go, return home.” 

And my father drew me out of the crowd, and 
said as we passed along the street, “ Enrico, would 
you have had the courage, under similar circum- 
stances, to do your duty, — to go and confess your 
fault? ” 

I told him that I should. And he said, “ Give 
me your word, as a lad of heart and honor, that 
you would do it.” 

“ I give you my word, father ! ” 



STOP THAT, YOU LITTLE RASCALS.” 


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t 


THE SCHOOLMISTRESSES. 


73 


THE SCHOOLMISTKESSES. 

Saturday, 17th. 

. To-day Garoffi stood in fear and dread of a 
severe punishment from the teacher; but the mas- 
ter did not appear; and as the assistant was also 
missing, Signora Cromi, the oldest of the school- 
mistresses, came to teach the school. She has 
two grown-up children, and she has taught sev- 
eral women to read and write, who now come 
with their sons to the Baretti schoolhouse. 

She was sad to-day, because one of her sons is 
ill. No sooner had the boys caught sight of her, 
than they began to make an uproar. But she 
said, in a slow and calm tone, Eespect my white 
hair; 1 am not only a school-teacher, I am also a 
mother ; and then no one dared to speak again, 
in spite of that brazen face of Franti, who con- 
tented himself with jeering at her on the sly. 

Signora Delcati, my brother’s teacher, was sent 
to take charge of Signora Cromi’s class, and to 
Signora Delcati’s was sent the teacher who is 
called “ the little nun,” because she always dresses 
in dark colors, with a black apron, and has a small 
white face, hair that is always smooth, very bright 
eyes, and a delicate voice, that seems to be forever 
murmuring prayers. It is hard to understand, 
my mother says; she is so gentle and timid, with 
that thread of a voice, which is always even, which 
is hardly audible, and she never speaks loud nor 
flies into a passion; but, nevertheless, she keeps 


74 


DECEMBER. 


the boys so quiet that you cannot hear them, and 
the most roguish bow their heads when she merely 
admonishes them with her finger, so that her 
school seems like a church; and it is for this rea- 
son, also, that she is called “ the little nun.^’ 

But there is another one I like, — the young 
mistress of the lower first, the girl with the 
rosy face, who has two pretty dimples in her 
cheeks, and who wears a large red feather on her 
little bonnet, and a small cross of yellow glass on 
her neck. She is always cheerful, and keeps her 
class cheerful. She is always calling out with 
that silvery voice of hers, which makes her seem 
to be singing, and tapping her little rod on the 
table, and clapping her hands to impose silefice. 
When they come out of school, she runs after one 
and another like a child, to bring them hack into 
line. She pulls up the cape of one, and buttons 
the coat of another, so that they may not take 
cold. She follows them even into the street, in 
order that they may not fall to quarrelling. She 
begs the parents not to whip them at home. She 
brings lozenges to those who have coughs. She 
lends her muff to those who are cold. And she 
is continually tormented by the smallest children, 
who caress her and demand kisses, and pull at 
her veil and her mantle; but she lets them do it, 
and kisses them all with a smile, and returns home 
all rumpled and with her throat all bare, panting 
and happy, with her beautiful dimples and her 
red feather. She is also the girls’ drawing- 
teacher, and she supports her mother and a 
brother by her earnings. 


THE WOUNDED MAN. 


THE WOUNDED MAN. 

Sunday, 18th. 

The grandnephew of the old employee who was 
struck in the eye by Garoffi’s snowball is in the 
room of the schoolmistress who has the red 
feather: we saw him to-day with his uncle, who 
treats him like a son. I had finished writing out 
the monthly story for the coming week, — The 
Little Florentine Scribe , — which the master had 
given to me to copy ; and my father said to me : — 
Let us go up to the fourth floor, and see how 
that old gentleman’s eye is.” 

We entered a room which was almost dark, 
where the old man was sitting up in bed, with a 
great many pillows behind his shoulders; by the 
bedside sat his wife, and in one corner his nephew 
was amusing himself. The old man’s eye was 
bandaged. He was very glad to see my father; he 
made us sit down, and said that he was better, 
that his eye was not only not ruined, but that he 
should be quite well again in a few days. 

It was an accident,” he added. I regret the 
terror which it must have caused that poor boy.” 
Then he talked to us about the doctor, whom he 
expected every moment to attend him. Just then 
the door-bell rang. 

There is the doctor,” said his wife. 

The door opened — and whom did I see ? Gar- 
offi, in his long cloak, standing, with bowed head, 
on the threshold, and without the courage to 
enter. 


76 


DECEJMBER. 


Who is it? asked the sick man. 

It is the boy who threw the snowball/^ said 
my father. And then the old man said : — 

Oh, my poor boy ! come here ; you have come 
to inquire after the wounded man, have you not? 
But he is better; be at ease; he is better and al- 
most well. Come here.^^ 

Garoffi, who did not see us in his confusion, 
approached the bed, forcing himself not to cry; 
and the old man caressed him, but could not 
speak. 

Thank you,” said the old man ; go and tell 
your father and mother that all is going well, and 
that they are not to think any more about it.” 

But Garoffi did not move, and seemed to have 
something to say which he dared not utter. 

‘^What have you to say to me? What do you 
want? ” 

« I? — Nothing.” 

Well, good-bye, until we meet again, my boy; 
go with your heart in peace.” 

Garoffi went as far as the door; but there he 
halted, turned to the nephew, who was following 
him, and who gazed curiously at him. All at 
once he pulled some object from beneath his 
cloak, put it in the boy’s hand, and whispered 
hastily to him, It is for you,” and away he went 
like a flash. 

The boy carried the object to his uncle. He 
saw that on it was written, I give you this/’ He 
looked inside, and uttered an exclamation of sur- 
prise. It was the famous album, with his collec- 
tion of postage-stamps, which poor Garoffi had 


THE LITTLE FLORENTINE SCRIBE. 77 


brought, the collection about which he was al- 
ways talking, upon which he had founded so many 
hopes, and which had cost him so much trouble. 
It was his treasure, poor boy! it was the half of 
his very blood, which he had given in exchange 
for his pardon. 


THE LITTLE FLOEENTINE SCEIBE. 

(Monthly Story.) 

He was in the fourth elementary class. He was 
a graceful Florentine lad of twelve, with black 
hair and a pale face, the eldest son of an employee 
on the railway, who, having a large family and 
but small pay, lived in straitened circumstances. 
His father loved him and was kind and indulgent 
to him — indulgent in everything except in what 
concerned school: on this point he required a 
great deal, and was severe, because his son was 
obliged to attain such a rank as would enable him 
soon to obtain a place and help his family; and 
in order to accomplish anything quickly, it was 
necessary that he should work a great deal in a 
very short time. So although the lad studied, 
his father was always exhorting him to study 
more. 

His father was advanced in years, and too much 
toil had aged him before his time. Nevertheless, 
in order to provide for the necessities of his fam- 
ily, in addition to the toil which his occupation 


78 


DECEMBER. 


imposed upon him, he obtained special work here 
and there as a copyist, and passed a good part of 
the night at his writing-table. Lately, he had 
undertaken, in behalf of a house which published 
journals and books in parts, to write upon the par- 
cels the names and addresses of their subscribers, 
and he earned three lire^ for every five hundred 
of these paper wrappers, written in large and reg- 
ular characters. But this work wearied him, and 
he often complained of it to his family at dinner. 

My eyes are giving out,'^ he said; this night 
work is killing me.^^ One day his son said to 
him, Let me work instead of you, papa ; you 
know that I can write like you, and fairly well.^’ 
But the father answered : — 

Xo, my son, you must study; your school is a 
much more important thing than my wrappers; 
I would hate to rob you of a single hour; I thank 
you, but I will not have it; do not mention it to 
me again.’’ 

The son knew that it was useless to insist on 
such a matter with his father, and he did not per- 
sist; but this is what he did. He knew that ex- 
actly at midnight his father stopped writing, and 
quitted his workroom to go to his bedroom; he 
had heard him several times : so soon as the twelve 
strokes of the clock had sounded, he had heard 
the sound of a chair drawn back, and the slow 
step of his father. One night he waited until the 
latter was in bed, then dressed himself very, very 
softly, and felt his way to the little workroom, 
lighted the petroleum lamp again, seated himself 
at the writing-table, where lay a pile of white 


1 Sixty cents. 


THE LITTLE FLORENTINE SCRIBE. 


79 


wrappers and the list of addresses, and began to 
write, imitating exactly liis father’s handwriting. 
And he wrote with a will, gladly, a little in fear, 
and the wrappers piled np. From time to time 
he dropped the pen to rub his hands, and then 
began again with increased alacrity, listening and 
smiling. He wrote a hundred and sixty — one 
lira! Then he stopped, placed the pen where he 
had found it, put out the light, and went back to 
bed on tiptoe. 

At noon the next day his father sat down to the 
table in a good humor. He had noticed nothing. 
He did the work mechanically, measuring it by 
the hour, and thinking of something else, and only 
counted the wrappers he had written on the fol- 
lowing day. Slapping his son on one shoulder, 
he said to him : — 

Eh, Giulio! Your father is even a better 
workman than you thought. In two hours I did 
a good third more work than usual last night. 
My hand is still nimble, and my eyes still do their 
duty.^^ And Giulio, silent but content, said to 
himself, Poor daddy, besides the money, I am 
giving him some satisfaction in the thought that 
he has grown young again. Well, courage ! 

Encouraged by these good results, when night 
came and twelve oYlock struck, he rose once more, 
and set to work. And this he did for several 
nights. And his father noticed nothing; only 
once, at supper, he remarked, It is strange how 
much oil has been used in this house lately ! 
This was a shock to Giulio; but the conversation 
ceased there, and the nightly labor went on. 


80 


DECEMBER. 


However, on account of breaking his sleep every 
night, Giulio did not get sufficient rest: he rose 
in the morning fatigued, and when he was doing 
his school work in the evening, he had difficulty 
in keeping his eyes open. One evening, for the 
first time in his life, he fell asleep over his copy- 
book. 

“ Courage ! courage ! cried his father, clap- 
ping his hands ; “ to work ! 

He shook himself and set to work again. But 
the next evening, and on the days following, the 
same thing occurred, and worse: he dozed over 
his books, he rose later than usual, he studied his 
lessons in a languid way, he seemed disgusted 
with study. His father began to observe him, 
then to reflect seriously, and at last to reprove 
him. He should never have done it! 

“ Giulio,^^ he said to him one morning, you 
put me out of patience; you are no longer as you 
used to be. I doffit like it. Take care; all the 
hopes of your family rest on you. I am dissatis- 
fied; do you understand?’^ 

At this reproof, the first severe one, in truth, 
which he had ever received, the boy grew troubled. 

Yes,” he said to himself, ‘ffit is true; it can- 
not go on so; this deceit must come to an end.” 

But at dinner, on the evening of that very same 
day, his father said with much cheerfulness, Do 
you know that this month I have earned thirty- 
two lire more at addressing those wrappers than 
last month ! ” and so saying, he drew from under 
the table a paper package of sweets which he had 
bought, that he might celebrate with his children 


THE LITTLE FLORENTINE SCRIBE. 81 


this unusual profit, and they all hailed it with 
clapping of hands. 

Giulio took courage again, and said in his heart. 

No, poor papa, I shall not cease to deceive you; 
I shall make greater efforts to work during the 
day, but 1 shall continue to work at night for you 
and for the rest.^^ And his father added, Thir- 
ty-two lire more! I am satisfied. But that boy 
there,^^ pointing at Giulio, ‘^is the one who dis- 
pleases me.^^ And Giulio received the reprimand 
in silence, forcing hack two tears which tried to 
flow ; but at the same time he felt a great pleasure 
in his heart. 

And he continued to work by main force; but 
fatigue added to fatigue rendered it ever more 
difficult for him to resist. Thus things went on 
for two months. 'The father continued to re- 
proach his son, and to gaze at him with eyes 
which grew constantly more wrathful. One day 
he went to make inquiries of the teacher, and the 
teacher said to him: Yes, he gets along, because 
he is intelligent; but he no longer has the good 
will which he had at first. He is drowsy, he 
yawns, his mind is distracted. He writes short 
compositions, scribbled down in all haste, and 
badly. Oh, he could do a great deal, a great deal 
more.” 

That evening the father took the son aside, and 
spoke to him words which were graver than any 
the latter had ever heard. “ Giulio, you see how I 
toil, how I am wearing out my life, for the family. 
You do not second my efforts. You have no heart 
for me, nor for your brothers, nor for your 
mother ! ” 


82 


DECEMBER. 


''Ah no ! don't say that, father ! '' cried the son, 
bursting into tears, and opening his mouth to 
confess all. But his father interrupted him, say- 
ing: — 

" You are aware of the condition of the family; 
you know that good will and sacrifices on the part 
of all are necessary. I myself, as you see, have 
had to double my work. I counted on a gift of a 
hundred lire from the railway company this 
month, and this morning I have learned that I 
shall receive nothing ! '' 

At the news, Giulio repressed the confession 
which was on the point of escaping from his soul, 
and repeated resolutely to himself : " No, papa^ 

I shall tell you nothing; I shall guard my secret 
for the sake of being able to work for you ; I shall 
recompense you in another wd!y for the sorrow I 
am causing you ; I shall study enough at school to 
win promotion; the important point is to help 
you to earn our living, and to relieve you of the 
fatigue which is killing you.'' 

And so he went on, and two months more 
passed, of labor by night and weakness by day, of 
desperate efforts on the part of the son, and of 
bitter reproaches on the part of the father. But 
the worst of it was, that the latter grew gradually 
colder towards the boy, only spoke to him rarely, 
as though he had been a recreant son, of whom 
there was nothing any longer to be expected, and 
almost avoided meeting his glance. And Giulio 
perceived this and suffered from it, and when his 
father's back was turned, he threw him a furtive 
kiss, stretching forth his face with a sentiment of 


THE LITTLE FLORENTINE SCRIBE. 83 


sad and dutiful tenderness; and between sorrow 
and fatigue, he grew thin and pale, and he was 
forced to neglect his studies still further. He 
knew full well that there must he an end to it 
some day, and every evening he said to himself, 
“ I will not get up to-night ’’ ; hut when the clock 
struck twelve, at the moment when he should 
vigorously have reaffirmed his resolution, he felt 
remorse: it seemed to him, that hy remaining in 
bed he should he failing in a duty, and robbing his 
father and the family of a lira. He would rise, 
thinking that some night his father would wake up 
and discover him, or that he would find the de- 
ception by accident, by counting the wrappers 
twice; and then all would come to a natural end, 
without any act of his will, which he did not feel 
the courage to exert. And thus he went on. 

But one evening at dinner his father spoke a 
word which was decisive so far as he was con- 
cerned. His mother looked at him, and it 
seemed to her that he was more ill and weak than 
usual. She said to him, Giulio, you are ill.’^ 
i\nd then, turning to his father, with anxiety: 

Giulio is ill. See how pale he is ! Giulio, my 
dear, how do you feel ? 

His father gave a hasty glance, and said : “ It 

is his bad conscience that produces his bad health. 
He was not thus when he was a studious scholar 
and a loving son.” 

But he is ill ! ” exclaimed the mother. 

I don’t care anything about him any longer ! ” 
replied the father. 

This remark was like a stab in the heart to the 


84 


DECEMBER. 


poor boy. Ah! he cared nothing any more. His 
father, who once had trembled at the mere sound 
of a cough from him! He no longer loved him; 
there was no more doubt about it; he was dead in 
his father’s heart. 

‘^Ah, no! my father,” said the boy to himself, 
his heart oppressed with anguish, now all is over 
indeed; I cannot live without your affection; I 
must have it all back. I will tell you all; I will 
deceive you no longer. I will study as of old, come 
what may, if you will only love me once more, my 
poor father! Oh, this time I am quite sure of 
my resolution ! ” 

Nevertheless he rose that night again, by force 
of habit more than anything else; and when he 
was once up, he wanted to go and greet and see 
once more, for the last time, in the quiet of the 
night, that little chamber where he had toiled so 
much in secret with his heart full of satisfaction 
and tenderness. And when he beheld again that 
little table with the lamp lighted and those white 
Avrappers on which he was never more to write 
those names of towns and persons, which he had 
come to know by heart, he was seized with a great 
sadness, and with an impetuous movement he 
grasped the pen to recommence his accustomed 
toil. But in reaching out his hand he struck a 
book, and the book fell. The blood rushed to his 
heart. What if his father had waked! Certainly 
he would not have discovered him in the commis- 
sion of a bad deed : he had himself decided to tell 
him all, and yet — the sound of that step ap- 
proaching in the darkness, — the discovery at that 


THE LITTLE FLORENTINE SCRIBE. 85 


hour, in that silence, — his mother, who would be 
awakened and alarmed, — and the thought, which 
had occurred to him for the first time, that his 
father might feel humiliated in his presence on 
thus discovering all; — all this terrified him al- 
most. He bent his ear, with suspended breath. 
He heard no sound. He laid his ear to the lock 
of the door behind him — nothing. The whole 
house was asleep. His father had not heard. 

He recovered his composure, and set himself 
again to his writing, and wrapper was piled on 
wrapper. He heard the regular tread of the police- 
man below in the deserted street; then the rumble 
of a carriage which gradually died away; then, 
after an interval, the rattle of a file of carts, which 
passed slowly by; then a profound silence, broken 
from time to time by the distant barking of a 
dog. , 

And he wrote on and on: and meanwhile his 
father was behind him. He had risen on hearing 
the fall of the book, and had remained waiting for 
a long time: the rattle of the carts had drowned 
the noise of his footsteps and the creaking of the 
door-casing ; and he was there, with his white head 
bent over Giulio’s little black head, and he had 
seen the pen flying over the wrappers, and in an 
instant he had divined all, remembered all, un- 
derstood all, and a despairing penitence, but at 
the same time an immense tenderness, had taken 
possession of his mind and had held him nailed to 
the spot and choking behind his child. Suddenly 
Giulio uttered a piercing shriek; two arms had 
pressed his head convulsively. 


36 


DECEMBER. 


Oh, papa, papa ! forgive me, forgive me ! he 
cried, recognizing his parent by his weeping. 

Do yon forgive me ! replied his father, sob- 
bing, and covering his brow with kisses. I have 
understood all, I know all; it is I, it is I who ask 
your pardon, my blessed child; come, come with 
me ! and he pushed or rather carried him to the 
bedside of his mother, who was awake, and throw- 
ing him into her arms, he said : — 

Kiss this little angel of a son, who has not 
slept for three months, but has been toiling for me, 
while I was saddening his heart, and he was earn- 
ing our bread ! The mother pressed him to her 
breast and held him there, without the power to 
speak; at last she said: Go to sleep at once, my 

baby, go to sleep and rest. — Carry him to bed.” 

The father took him from her arms, carried him 
to his room, and laid him in his bed, still breath- 
ing hard and caressing him, and arranged his 
pillows and coverlets for him. 

‘^Thanks, papa,” the child kept repeating; 
“ thanks ; but go to bed yourself now ; I am con- 
tent; go to bed, papa.” 

But his father wanted to see him fall asleep: 
so he sat down beside the bed, took his hand, and 
said to him, Sleep, sleep, my little son ! ” and 
Giulio, being weak, fell asleep at last, and slum- 
bered many hours, enjoying, for the first time 
in months, a tranquil sleep, enlivened by pleas- 
ant dreams; and as he opened his eyes, when 
the sun had already been shining for some time, 
he first felt, and then saw, close to his breast, and 
resting upon the edge of the little *bed, the white 


WILL. 


87 


head of his father, who had passed the night thus, 
and who was still asleep, with his brow against 
his son’s heart. 


WILL. 

Wednesday, 28tli. 

None but Stardi in my school, would have had 
the force to do what the little Florentine did. This 
morning two events occurred at the school : 
Garoffi became wild with delight, because his 
album had been returned to him, with the addi- 
tion of three postage-stamps of the Eepublic of 
Guatemala, which he had been seeking for three 
months; and Stardi took the second medal. Stardi 
the next in the class after Derossi! All were 
amazed at it. Who could ever have foretold it, 
when, in October, his father brought him to 
school bundled up in that big, green coat, and said 
to the master, in the presence of every one : — 
You must have a great deal of patience with 
him, because he is very hard of understanding! ” 
Every one credited him with a wooden head from 
the very beginning. But he said, I will burst or 
I will succeed,” and he set to work doggedly, to 
studying day and night, at home, at school, while 
walking, with set teeth and clenched fists, patient 
as an ox, obstinate as a mule ; and thus, by dint of 
trampling on every one, disregarding mockery, 
and dealing kicks to disturbers, this big thick- 
head passed in advance of the rest. He did not 
understand the first thing of arithmetic, he filled 
his compositions with absurdities, he never sue- 


S8 


DECEMBER. 


ceeded in holding a phrase in his mind; and now 
he solves problems, writes correctly, and sings his 
lessons like a song. And his iron will can he 
guessed when one sees how he is made, so very 
thickset and squat, with a square head and no 
neck, with short, thick hands, and coarse voice. 
He studies even on scraps of newspaper, and on 
theatre bills, and every time that he has ten soldi, 
he buys a hook. He has already collected a little 
library, and in a moment of good humor he al- 
lowed the promise to sfip from his mouth that he 
would take me home and show it to me. He speaks 
to no one, he plays with no one, he is always on 
hand, on his bench, with his fists pressed to his 
temples, firm as a rock, listening to the teacher. 
How he must have toiled, poor Stardi! The 
master said to him this morning, although he was 
impatient and in a had humor, when he bestowed 
the medals : — 

Bravo, Stardi ! he who endures, conquers.^^ 
But Stardi did not appear in the least puffed 
up with pride — he did not smile ; and no sooner 
had he returned to his seat, with the medal, than 
he planted his fists on his temples again, and be- 
came more motionless and more attentive than 
before. But the finest thing happened when he 
went out of school ; for his father, who is as big 
and squat as himself, with a huge face and a huge 
voice, was there waiting for him. He had not 
expected this medal, and he was not willing to be- 
lieve in it, so that it was necessary for the master 
to reassure him, and then he began to laugh 
heartily, and tapped his son on the hack of the 
neck, saying energetically, Bravo! good! my 


GRATITUDE. . 


89 


dear pumpkin ; you’ll do ! ” and he stared at him, 
astonished and smiling. And all the boys around 
him smiled too, except Stardi. He was already 
running over the lesson for to-morrow morning in 
that huge head of his. 


I 

GKATITUDE. 

Saturday, 31st. 

Your schoolmate Stardi never complains of his 
teacher; I am sure of that. “ The master was in a 
bad humor, was impatient,” — you say it in a tone of 
resentment. Think an insitant how often you give 
way to acts of impatience, and towards whom? to- 
wards your father and your mother, where your im- 
patience is a crime. Your master has very good cause 
to be impatient at times! Reflect thait ,he has been 
laboring for boys these many years, and that if he 
has found many affectionate and noble individuals 
among them, he has also found many ungrateful ones, 
who have abused his kindness and ignored his toils; 
and that, among you all, you cause him far more 
bitterness than satisfaction. Reflect, that the most 
holy man on earth, if placed in his position, would 
allow himself to be conquered by wrath now and 
then. And then, lif you only knew how often the 
teacher is feeling ill, but teaches, nevertheless, be- 
cause he is not ill enough to be excused from school; 
and is impatient on account of his suffering, and is 
pained to see that the rest of you do not notice it, 
or abuse it! 

Respect, love your master, my son. Love him, also, 
because your father loves and respects him; because 


90 


DECEMBER. 


he consecrates his life to the welfare of so many 
boys who will forget him; love him because he opens 
and enlightens your intelligence and educates your 
mind; because, one of these days, when you have be- 
come a man, and when neither I nor he shall be in 
the world, his image will often present itself to your 
mind, side by side with mine, and then you will see 
certain expressions of sorrow and weariness in his 
honest countenance to which you now pay no heed. 
You will recall them, and they will pain you, even 
after the lapse of thirty years; and you will feel 
ashamed, you will feel sad at not having loved him, 
at having behaved badly towards him. Love your 
master; for he belongs to that vast family of fifty 
thousand elementary instructors, scattered through- 
out all Italy, who are the intellectual fathers of the 
millions of boys who are growing up with you; the 
laborers, hardly recognized and poorly paid, who are 
preparing in our country a people superior to those 
of the present. 

I am not content with the affection which you have 
for me, if you have it not, also, for all those w^ho are 
doing you good; and among these, your master stands 
first, after your parents. Love him as you would love 
a brother of mine; love him when he caresses and 
when he reproves you; when he is just, and when he 
appears to you to be unjust; love him when he is 
amiable and gracious; and love him even more when 
you see him sad. Love him always. And always 
pronounce with reverence that name of “ teacher,” 
which, after that of ‘‘ father,” is the noblest, the 
sweetest name which one man can apply to another 
man. 


Your Father. 


THE ASSISTANT MASTER. 


91 


JANUARY. 


THE ASSISTANT MASTER. 

Wednesday, 4th. 

My father was right; the master was in a bad 
hamor because he was not well; for the last three 
days, in fact, the assistant has been coming in his 
stead, — that little man, without a beard, who 
looks like a boy. 

A shameful thing happened this morning. 
There had been an uproar on the first and second 
days, in the school, because the assistant is very 
patient and does nothing but say, “ Be quiet, be 
quiet, I beg of you.^^ But this morning they 
passed all bounds. Such a noise arose, that his 
words were no longer audible, and he admonished 
and besought; but it was a mere waste of breath. 
Twice the principal appeared at the door and 
looked in; but the moment he went away the 
murmur increased as in a market. It was in vain 
that Derossi and Garrone turned round and made 
signs to the fellows to be good, — that it was a 
shame. No one paid any heed to them. Stardi 
alone remained quiet, with his elbows on the 
bench, and his fists to his temples, thinking, per- 
haps, about his famous library; and Garoffi, he of 
the hooked nose and the postage-stamps, who was 


92 


JANUARY. 


wholly occupied in making a catalogue of the sub- 
scribers at two centesimi each, for a lottery for a 
pocket inkstand. The rest chattered and laughed, 
pounded on the points of pens fixed in the 
benches, and snapped pellets of paper at each 
other with the elastics of their garters. 

The assistant grasped now one, now another, by 
the arm, and shook him; and he placed one of 
them against the wall — time wasted. He no 
longer knew what to do, and he entreated them. 

Why do you behave like this? Do you wish to 
make me punish you?” Then he thumped the 
little table with his fist, and shouted in a voice, 
angry but tearful, “ Silence ! silence ! silence ! ” It 
was hard to hear him. But the noise kept getting 
louder. Franti threw a paper dart at him; some 
gave mat-calls ; others thumped each other on the 
head. The hurly-burly was indescribable; when, 
all of a sudden, the beadle entered and said : — 
Signor Master, the principal has sent for you.” 
The teacher rose and went out in haste, with a 
gesture of despair. Then the tumult began more 
vigorously than ever. But suddenly Garrone 
sprang up, his face all flaming, his fists clenched, 
and shouted in a voice choked with rage : — 
‘‘Stop this! You are brutes! You take ad- 
vantage of him because he is kind. If he were to 
bruise your bones for you, you would be as humble 
as dogs. You are a pack of cowards! The first 
one of you that jeers at him again, I shall wait for 
outside, and I shall break his teeth for him, — I 
swear it, — even under his father’s very eyes ! 

All grew silent. Ah, what a fine thing it was 


STARDI’S LIBRARY. 


93 


to see Garrone, with liis eyes darting flames! He 
seemed to be a furious young lion. He stared at 
the most daring, one after the other, and all hung 
their heads. When the assistant came back, with 
red eyes, not a breath was to be heard. He stood 
in amazement; then, catching sight of Garrone, 
w'ho was still all fiery and trembling, he under- 
stood it all, and he said to him, with accents of 
great affection, as to a brother, I thank you, 
Garrone.^^ 


STAEDFS LIBEAEY. 

I have been home with Stardi, who lives oppo- 
site the schoolhouse; and I really felt some envy 
at the sight of his library. He is not at all rich, 
and he cannot buy many books; but he preserves 
his schoolbooks with great care, as well as those 
which his relatives give him; and he lays aside 
every soldo that is given to him, and spends it at 
the bookseller’s. In this way he has collected 
quite a little library; and when his father saw that 
he had this passion, he bought him a handsome 
bookcase of walnut wood, with a green curtain, 
and he has had most of his volumes bound for 
him in the colors that he likes. 

When he draws a little cord, the green curtain 
runs back, and three rows of books of every color 
are seen, all ranged in order, and shining, with 
gilt titles on their backs, — books of tales, of 
travels, and of poetry; and some illustrated ones. 


94 


JANUARY. 


He understands how to combine colors well: he 
places the white volumes next to the red ones, the 
3^ellow next the black, the blue beside the white, 
so that, viewed from a distance, they make a very 
fine show; and he amuses himself by varying the 
combinations. 

He has made himself a catalogue. He is like 
a librarian. He is always standing near his hooks, 
dusting them, turning over the leaves, looking over 
the bindings. It is something to see the care with 
which he opens them, with his big, stubby hands, 
and blows between the pages: then they seem 
perfectly new again. I have worn out all of mine. 
It is a delight for him to polish off every new book 
that he buys, to put it in its place, and to pick it 
up again to take another look at it from all sides, 
and to brood over it as a treasure. He showed me 
nothing else for a whole hour. His eyes were 
troubling him, because he had read too much. 
His father, who is large and thickset like himself, 
with a big head like his, and who happened to 
come in the room, gave him two or three taps on 
the nape of the neck, saying with that huge voice 
of his : — 

‘‘ What do you think of him, eh? of this head of 
bronze? It is a stout head, that will succeed in 
anything, I assure you ! 

And Stardi half closed his e3^es, under these 
rough caresses, like a big hunting-dog. I do not 
know why, but I did not dare to jest with him; I 
could not realize that he was only a year older 
than myself. And when he said to me, Farewell 
until we meet again,’’ at the door, with that funny 


THE BLACKSMITH’S SON. 


95 


face of his, I came very near replying, I salute 
you, sir,” as to a man. 

I told my father afterwards, at home : I don^t 
understand it; ^tardi has no natural talent, he 
lacks fine manners, and his face is almost ridicu- 
lous; yet he inspires me with respect.” 

“ It is because he has character,” replied my 
father. And I added, “ During the hour that I 
spent with him he did not utter fifty words, he 
did not show me a single plaything, he did not 
laugh once; yet I liked to go there.” 

And my father answered, That is because you 
value his society.” 


THE BLACKSMITH’S SOK. 

Yes, but I also value Precossi’s society — in- 
deed it is a stronger feeling, — Precossi, the son 
of the blacksmith, — that thin, little fellow, who 
has kind, sad eyes and a frightened air; who is so 
timid that he says to every one, Excuse me ” ; 
who is always sickly, and who, nevertheless, 
studies so much. His father goes home drunk, and 
beats him without the slightest reason in the 
world, and tosses his books and his copy-books in 
every direction. And Precossi comes to school 
with the black and blue marks on his face, and 
sometimes with his face all swollen, and his eyes 
red with weeping. But never, never can he be 
made to acknowledge that his father beats him. 

Your father has been beating you,” the boys 
say to him. 


96 


JANUARY. 


That is not true ! it is not true ! ’’ he cries, to 
avoid shaming his father. 

You did not burn this leaf,’^ the teacher says 
to him, showing him his work, h^lf burned. 

Yes,^" he replies, in a trembling voice; “ I let 
it fall on the fire.^^ 

But we know very well, nevertheless, that his 
drunken father overturned the table and the light 
with a kick, while the boy was doing his work. 
He lives in a garret of our house, reached by an- 
other staircase. The janitress tells my mother 
everything. My sister Silvia heard him scream- 
ing from the terrace one day, when his father had 
thrown him headlong down stairs, because he had 
asked for a few soldi to buy a grammar. His 
father drinks, but does not work, and his family 
suffers from hunger. Often Precossi comes to 
school with an empty stomach, and nibbles in 
secret at a roll which Garrone has given him, or at 
an apple brought to him by the schoolmistress 
with the red feather, who was his teacher in the 
first lower class. But he never says, I am 
hungry; my father does not give me anything to 
eat.^’ 

His father sometimes comes for him, when he 
chances to be passing the schoolhouse, — pale, un- 
steady on his legs, with a fierce face, his hair over 
his eyes, and his cap awry; and the poor boy 
trembles all over when he catches sight of him in 
the street. But he immediately runs to meet him, 
with a smile; and his father does not appear to 
see him, but seems to be thinking of something 
else. 


THE BLACKSMITH’S SON. 


97 


Poor Precossi ! He mends his torn copy-books, 
borrows books to study his lessons, fastens the 
fragments of his shirt together with pins. It is 
pathetic to see him going through his gymnastics, 
with those huge shoes in which he is fairly lost, 
in those trousers which drag on the ground, and 
that jacket which is too long, and those huge 
sleeves turned back to the very elbows. And he 
studies; he does his best; ne would be one of the 
first, if he were able to work at home in peace. 
This morning he came to school with the marks of 
finger-nails on one cheek, and they all began to 
say to him : — 

It was your father, and you cannot deny it 
this time; it was your father who did that to you. 
Tell the principal about it, and he will have him 
arrested for it.^’ 

But he sprang up, all flushed, with a voice 
trembling with indignation : — 

It’s not true ! it’s not true ! My father never 
beats me ! ” 

But afterwards, during lesson time, his tears 
fell upon the bench, and when any one looked at 
him, he tried to smile, in order that he might not 
show it. Poor Precossi ! To-morrow Derossi, 
Coretti, and Nelli are coming to my house. 1 
want to tell him to come also ; I want to have him 
take luncheon with me; I want to treat him to 
books, and turn the house upside down to amuse 
him, and to fill his pockets with fruit, for the sake 
of seeing him happy for once, — poor Precossi! 
who is so good and so brave ! 


98 


JANUARY. 


A FINE VISIT. 

Thursday, 12th. 

This has been one of the finest Thursdays of 
the year for me. At two o’clock, precisely, Derossi 
and Coretti came to the house, with Nelli, the 
hunchback. Precossi’s father did not let him 
come. Derossi and Coretti were still laughing at 
their encounter with Crossi, the son of the vege- 
table-seller, in the street, — the boy with the use- 
less arm and the red hair, — who was carrying a 
large cabbage for sale. With the soldo which he 
was to receive for the cabbage he was to go and 
buy a pen. He was perfectly happy because his 
father had written from America that they might 
expect him any day. 

Oh, the two delightful hours that we passed to- 
gether! Derossi and Coretti are the two jolliest 
boys in the school; my father fell in love with 
them. Coretti had on his chocolate-colored jacket 
and his catskin cap. He is a lively imp, who always 
wants to be doing something, stirring up some- 
thing, setting something to going. He had already 
carried on his shoulders half a cartload of wood, 
early that morning; nevertheless, he pranced all 
over the house, taking note of everything and 
talking incessantly, as sprightly and nimble as a 
squirrel. Going into the kitchen, he asked the 
cook how much we had to pay a myriagramme for 
wood, because his father sells it at forty-five 
centesimi. He is always talking of his father, of 


A FINE VISIT. 


99 


the time when he was a soldier in the 49th regi- 
ment, at the battle of Custoza, where he served in 
the squadron of Prince Umberto. And he is so 
gentle in his manners! It makes no difference 
that he was born and brought up surrounded by 
wood: he has nobility in his blood, in his heart, 
so my father says. 

And Derossi amused us greatly. He knows 
geography like a teacher. He shut his eyes and 
said: — 

“ There, I see the whole of Italy ; the Apen- 
nines, which extend to the Ionian Sea, the rivers 
flowing here and there, the white cities, the gulfs, 
the blue bays, the green islands ; ” and he repeated 
the names correctly in their order and very rapidly, 
as though he were reading them on the map. And 
at the sight of him standing thus, with his head 
held high, with all his golden curls, with his 
closed eyes, and all dressed in bright blue with gilt 
buttons, as straight and handsome as a statue, we 
could not help admiring him. In one hour he had 
learned by heart nearly three pages, which he is 
to recite the- day after to-morrow, for the anni- 
versary of the funeral of King Vittorio. Kelli 
also gazed at him in wonder and affection, smooth- 
ing the folds of his black cloth apron, and smiling 
with his clear and mournful eyes. 

This visit gave me a great deal of pleasure; it 
left something like sparks in my mind and my 
heart. And it pleased me, too, when they went 
away, to see poor Kelli between the other two tall, 
strong fellows, who carried him home on their 
arms, and made him laugh as I have never seen 
him laugh before. 

l.ofC. 


100 


JANUARY. 


On going back to the dining-room, I noticed 
that the picture of Kigoletto, the hunchback 
jester, was no longer there. My father had taken 
it away in order that Nelli might not see it. 


THE FUNEKAL OF VITTOEIO EMANUELE. 

Tuesday, 17th. 

To-day, at two o’clock, as soon as we had en- 
tered the schoolroom, the master called up De- 
rossi, who went and took his place in front of the 
little table facing us, and began to recite, in his 
vibrating tones, gradually raising his limpid voice, 
and growing flushed in the face : — 

Four years ago, on this day, at this hour, 
there arrived in front of the Pantheon at Rome, 
the funeral-car which bore the body of Vittorio 
Emanuele, the first king of Italy, dead after a 
reign of twenty-nine years, during which the great 
Italian fatherland, broken up into seven states, 
and oppressed by strangers and by tyrants, had 
been brought back to life in one single state, free 
and independent; after a reign of twenty-nine 
years, which he had made illustrious and benefi- 
cent with his valor, with loyalty, with boldness 
amid perils, with wisdom amid triumphs, with 
constancy amid misfortunes. The funeral-car 
arrived, laden with wreaths, after having traversed 
Rome under a rain of flowers, amid the silence of 
an immense and sorrowing multitude, which had 
assembled from every part of Italy. Preceded by 


THE FUNERAL OF VITTORIO EMANUELE. 101 


a legion of generals and by a throng of ministers 
and princes, followed by a retinue of corporal 
veterans, by a forest of banners, by the envoys of 
three hundred towns, by everything which repre- 
sents the power and the glory of a people, it 
arrived before the august temple where the tomb 
awaited it. 

^‘At that moment twelve cuirassiers removed the 
coffin from the car. At that moment Italy bade 
her last farewell to her dead king, to her old mon- 
arch whom she had loved so dearly, the last fare- 
well to her soldier, to her father, to the twenty- 
nine most fortunate and most blessed years in her 
history. It was a grand and solemn moment. 
The eyes, the souls, of all were quivering at the 
sight of that coffin and the darkened banners of 
the eighty regiments of the army of Italy, borne 
by eighty officers, drawn up in line on its passage : 
for Italy was there in those eighty tokens, which 
recalled the thousands of dead, the torrents of 
blood, our most sacred glories, our most holy 
sacrifices, our most tremendous griefs. 

The coffin, borne by the cuirassiers, passed, 
and then the banners bent forward all together in 
salute, — the banners of the new regiments, the 
old, tattered banners of Goito, of Pastrengo, of 
Santa Lucia, of Novara, of the Crimea, of Palestro, 
of San Martino, of Castelfidardo ; eighty black veils 
fell, a hundred medals clashed against the staves, 
and that sonorous and confused uproar, which 
stirred the blood of all, was like the sound of a 
thousand human voices saying together, — ^ Fare- 
well, good king, gallaRt king, loyal king! You 


102 


JANUARY. 


will live in the heart of your people so long as the 
sun shall shine over Italy.^ 

“After this, the banners rose heavenward once 
more, and King Vittorio entered into the immortal 
glory of the tomb.” 


FEAKTI EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL. 

Saturday, 21st. 

Only one boy was capable of laughing while 
Derossi was declaiming the funeral oration of the 
king. It was Franti. I detest that fellow. He is 
wicked. When a father comes to the school to 
reprove his son, he enjoys it; when any one cries, 
he laughs. He cowers before Garrone, and he 
strikes the little mason because he is small. He 
torments Cross! because he has a helpless arm. 
He ridicules Precossi, whom every one respects. 
He even jeers at Robetti, that boy in the second 
grade who walks on crutches, through having 
saved a child. He provokes those who are weaker 
than himself, and when it comes to blows, he 
grows savage and tries to do harm. 

There is something beneath that low forehead, 
in those turbid eyes, kept nearly concealed under 
the visor of his small cap of waxed cloth, which 
inspires a shudder. He fears no one. He laughs 
in the master’s face. He steals when he gets a 
chance and denies it brazenly. He is always in a 
quarrel with some one. He brings big pins to 
school, to prick his neighbors with. He tears the 


FRANTI EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL. 103 


buttons from his own jackets and from those of 
others, and plays with them. His paper, books, 
and copy-books are all crushed, torn, dirty. His 
ruler is jagged, his pens gnawed, his nails bitten, 
bis clothes covered with stains and rents which he 
has got in his brawls. They say that his mother 
has fallen ill from the trouble that he causes her, 
and that his father has driven him from the house 
three times. His mother comes every now and 
then to make inquiries, and she always goes away 
in tears. He hates the school, he hates his com- 
panions, he hates the teacher. The master some- 
times pretends not to see his rascalities, and he 
behaves all the worse. The master tried to get a 
hold on him by kind treatment, and the boy ridi- 
culed him for it. The master said terrible things 
to him, and the boy covered his face with his 
hands, as though he were crying; but he was 
laughing. He was suspended from school for 
three days, and he came back more perverse and 
insolent than before. Derossi said to him one 
day, Stop it ! donT you see how much the teacher 
suffers? and the other threatened to stick a nail 
into his stomach. 

But this morning, at last, he got himself driven 
out like a dog. While the master was giving to 
Garrone the rough draft of The Sardinian Driim- 
mer-Boy, the monthly story for January, to copy, 
Franti threw a petard on the floor, which ex- 
ploded, making the schoolroom resound as from 
a discharge of musketry. The whole class was 
startled by it. The master sprang to his feet, and 
cried : — 

Franti, leave the school ! 


104 


JANUARY. 


The latter retorted, It wasn’t I;” but he 
laughed. The master repeated: — 

“Go!” 

“ I won’t stir,” he answered. 

Then the master lost his temper, and flung him- 
self upon him, seized him by the arms, and tore 
him from his seat. He resisted, ground his teeth, 
and made him carry him out by main force. The 
master bore him thus, heavy as he was, to the 
principal, and then came back alone and seated 
himself at his- little table, with his head clutched 
in his hands, out of breath, and with a look of 
such weariness and trouble that it was painful to 
see him. 

“After teaching school for thirty years 1 ” he 
exclaimed sadly, shaking his head. 

No one breathed. His hands were shaking with 
fury, and the cross-wise wrinkle in the middle of 
his forehead was so deep that it seemed like a 
wound. Poor master! All felt sorry for him. 

Derossi rose and said, “ Signor Master, do not 
grieve. We love you.” 

Then he grew calmer, and said, “ We will go 
on with the lesson, boys.” 


THE SAEDINIAN DRUMMEK-BOY. 

(Monthly Story.) 

On the first day of the battle of Custoza, the 
24th of July, 1848, about sixty soldiers, belong- 
ing to an infantry regiment of our army, who had 


THE SARDINIAN DRUMMER-BOY. 105 


been sent to a hill to occupy a lonely house, sud- 
denly found themselves attacked by two com- 
panies of Austrian soldiers, who, showering them 
with bullets from various quarters, hardly gave 
them time to take refuge in the house and to 
barricade the doors, after leaving several dead and 
wounded on the field. Having barred the doors, 
our men ran in haste to the windows of the ground 
fioor and the first story, and began to fire brisk 
discharges at their assailants, who, approaching 
gradually, ranged in a semicircle, made vigorous 
reply. 

The sixty Italian soldiers were commanded by 
two non-commissioned officers and a captain, a 
tall, thin, austere old man, with white hair and 
moustache; and with them there was a Sardinian 
drummer-boy, a bd of a little over fourteen, who 
did not look twelve, — small, with an olive-brown 
complexion, and small, deep-set, sparkling eyes. 

The captain directed the defence from a room 
on the first fioor, hurling commands like pistol- 
shots, and no sign of emotion was visible on his 
iron countenance. The drummer-boy, a little 
pale, but firm on his legs, had jumped upon a 
table, and was holding fast to the wall and 
stretching out his neck in order to gaze out of 
the windows. Through the smoke on the fields 
he saw the white uniforms of the Austrians, who 
were slowly advancing. The house was situated 
at the summit of a steep declivity, and on the side 
of the slope it had but one high window, cor- 
responding to a chamber in the roof: therefore 
the Austrians did not threaten the house from that 


106 


JANUARY. 


quarter, and the slope was free ; the fire beat only 
upon the front and the two ends. 

But it was a fearful fire, a hailstorm of leaden 
bullets, which split the walls on the outside, 
ground the tiles to powder, and in the interior 
cracked ceilings, furniture, window-frames, and 
door-frames, sending splinters of wood flying 
through the air, and clouds of plaster, and frag- 
ments of kitchen utensils and glass, whizzing, and 
rebounding, and breaking everything with noise 
enough to smash one’s skull. From time to time 
one of the soldiers who were firing from the 
>vindows fell crashing back to the floor, and was 
dragged to one side. Some staggered from room 
to room, pressing their hands on their wounds. 
There was already one dead body in the kitchen, 
with its forehead cleft. The semicircle of the 
enemy was drawing together. 

At a certain point the captain, hitherto im- 
passive, was seen to make a gesture of uneasiness, 
and to leave the room with huge strides, followed 
by a sergeant. Three minutes later the sergeant 
returned on a run, and summoned the drummer- 
boy, making him a sign to follow. The lad fol- 
lowed him at a quick pace up the wooden stair- 
case, and entered with him into a hare garret, 
where he saw the captain writing with a pencil on 
a sheet of paper, as he leaned against the little 
window; and on the floor at his feet lay the well- 
rope. 

The captain folded the sheet of paper, and said 
sharply, as he fixed his cold, gray eyes, before 
which all the soldiers trembled, on the boy : — 


THE SARDINIAN DRUMMER-BOY. 107 


Drummer ! 

The drummer-boy put his hand to his cap. 

You have courage? asked the captain. 

The boy’s eyes flashed. 

Yes, captain/’ he replied. 

Look down there,” said the captain, pushing 
him to the window; on the plain, near the 
houses of Villafranca, where there is a gleam of 
bayonets. There stand our troops, motionless. 
You are to take this message, tie yourself to the 
rope, descend from the window, get down that 
slope in an instant, make your way across the 
fields, reach our men, and give the note to the 
first officer you see. Throw off your belt and 
knapsack.” 

The drummer took off his belt and knapsack and 
thrust the note into his breast-pocket; the ser- 
geant flung the rope out of the window, and held 
one end of it clutched fast in his hands; the cap- 
tain helped the lad to clamber out of the small 
window, with his back turned to the field. 

^^Now look out!” he said; “the salvation of 
this detachment lies in your courage and in your 
legs.” 

“ Trust to me. Signor Captain,” replied the 
drummer-boy, as he let himself down. 

“ Bend over on the slope,” said the captain, 
grasping the rope, with the sergeant. 

“ Never fear.” 

“ God aid you ! ” 

In a few moments the drummer-boy was on the 
ground; the sergeant drew in the rope and dis- 
appeared; the captain stepped boldly in front of 
the window and saw the boy flying down the slope. 


108 


JANUARY. 


He was already hoping that the hoy had suc- 
ceeded in escaping unobserved, when five or six lit- 
tle puffs of dust, which rose from the earth in 
front of and behind the lad, warned him that he 
had been espied by the Austrians, who were firing 
down upon him from the top of the hill: these 
little clouds were thrown into the air by the bul- 
lets. But the drummer continued to run at a 
headlong speed. All at once he fell. “ Killed ! 
roared the captain, clenching his fist. But before 
he had uttered the word he saw the drummer 
spring up again. ‘^Ah, only a fall,^^ the captain 
said to himself, and drew a long breath. 

The drummer, in fact, set out again at full 
speed; but he limped. He has turned. his ankle,’^ 
thought the captain. Again several cloudlets of 
dust rose here and there about the lad, but ever 
more distant. He was safe. The captain gave a 
shout of triumph. But he continued to follow 
him with his eyes, trembling because it was an 
affair of minutes: if he did not arrive yonder in 
the shortest possible time with the note, which 
called for instant succor, either all his soldiers 
would be killed or he should be obliged to sur- 
render himself a prisoner with them. 

The boy ran rapidly for a space, then relaxed 
his pace and limped, then resumed his course, but 
grew constantly more w^earied, and every little 
while he stumbled and paused. 

Perhaps a bullet has grazed him,” thought the 
captain, and he noted all his movements, quiver- 
ing with excitement; and he encouraged him, he 


THE SARDINIAN DRUMMER-BOY. 109 


spoke to him, as though the hoy could hear him; 
he measured constantly, with a flashing eye, the 
space intervening between the fleeing flgure and 
that gleam of arms which he could see in the dis- 
tance amid the flelds of grain gilded by the sun. 
And meanwhile he heard the whistle and the crash 
of the bullets in the rooms beneath, the imperious 
and angry shouts of the sergeants and the officers, 
the piercing groans of the wounded, the ruin of 
furniture, and the fall of rubbish. 

On ! courage ! ’’ he shouted, following the far- 
off drummer with his glance. Forward ! run ! 
He halts, that cursed boy! Ah, he resumes his 
course ! 

An officer came panting to tell him that the 
enemy, without slackening their Are, were flinging 
out a white flag to hint at a surrender. Don’t 
reply to them ! ” he cried, without taking his eyes 
from the boy, who was already on the plain, but 
who was no longer running, and who seemed to 
be dragging himself along with difficulty. 

Go ! run ! ” said the captain, clenching his 
teeth and his fists ; let them kill you ; die, you 
rascal, but go ! ” Then he uttered a horrible oath. 
“Ah, the infamous poltroon 1 he has sat down ! ” 
In fact, the boy, whose head he had hitherto been 
able to see above a field of grain, had disappeared, 
as though he had fallen; but, after the lapse of a 
minute, it came into sight again; Anally, it was 
lost behind the hedges, and the captain saw it no 
more. 

Then the captain came down resolutely; the 
bullets were coming in a tempest; the rooms were 


110 


JANUARY. 


encumbered with the wounded, some of whom 
were whirling round like drunken men, and 
clutching at the furniture ; the walls and floor were 
bespattered with blood ; corpses lay across the door- 
ways; the lieutenant had had his arm shattered 
by a ball; smoke and clouds of dust enveloped 
everything. 

‘‘ Courage ! shouted the captain. Stand firm 
at your post ! Eelief is on the way ! Courage for 
a little while longer ! ” 

The Austrians had approached still nearer : 
their contorted faces were already visible through 
the smoke; and amid the crash of the firing their 
furious shouts were heard, uttering insults, sug- 
gesting a surrender, and threatening slaughter. 
Some of the soldiers were terrified, and withdrew 
from the windows; the sergeants drove them for- 
ward again. But the fire of the defence weakened; 
discouragement was seen on all faces. It was not 
possible to resist much longer. 

Then the fire of the Austrians slackened, and a 
thundering voice shouted, first in German and 
then in Italian, Surrender ! ” 

“No!^’ shouted the captain from a window. 

And the firing recommenced more fast and 
furious on both sides. More soldiers fell. Al- 
ready more than one window was without de- 
fenders. The fatal moment was near at hand. 
The captain muttered through his teeth, in a 
strangled voice, They are not coming ! they are 
not coming ! ” and rushed wildly about, twisting 
his sword in his convulsively clenched hand, and 
resolved to die; when a sergeant descending from 


THE SARDINIAN DRUMMER-BOY. Ill 


the garret^ uttered a piercing shout, They are 
coming ! 

They are coming ! repeated the captain, with 
a cry of joy. 

At that cry all, — well and wounded, sergeants and 
officers, — rushed to the windows, and the resist- 
ance became fierce once more. A few moments 
later a sort of uncertainty was noticeable, and a 
beginning of disorder among the foe. The cap- 
tain hastily collected a little troop in the room on 
the ground fioor, in order to make a sortie with 
fixed bayonets. Then he fiew up stairs. Scarcely 
had he arrived there when they heard a hasty 
trampling of feet, accompanied by a formidable 
hurrah, and saw from the windows the two- 
pointed hats of the Italian carabineers advancing 
through the smoke, a squadron rushing forward 
at great speed, and a lightning fiash of blades 
whirling in the air, as they fell on heads, on shoul- 
ders, and on backs. 

Then the troop darted out of the door, with 
bayonets presented ; the enemy wavered, were 
thrown into disorder, and turned in flight; the 
field was cleared, the house was free, and a little 
later two battalions of Italian infantry and two 
cannon occupied the height. 

The captain, with the soldiers that remained to 
him, rejoined his regiment, went on fighting, and 
was slightly wounded in the left hand by a spent 
ball in the final assault with bayonets. 

The day ended with the victory on our side. 

But on the following day, the conflict having 
begun again, the Italians were defeated by the 


112 


JANUARY. 


overwhelming numbers of the Austrians, in spite 
of a val'orous resistance, and on the morning of 
the 27th they sadly retreated towards the Mincio. 

The captain, although wounded, made the 
march on foot with his soldiers, weary and silent, 
and arrived at the close of the day at Goito, on 
the Mincio. He at once sought out his lieuten- 
ant, who had been picked up by the ambulance, 
with his arm shattered, and who must have ar- 
rived before him. He was directed to a church, 
where the field hospital had been installed in 
haste. He went there. The church was full of 
wounded men, ranged in two lines of beds, and 
on mattresses spread on the floor. Two doctors 
and numerous assistants were going and coming, 
busily occupied; and suppressed cries and groans 
could be heard. 

No sooner had the captain entered than he 
halted and cast a glance around, in search of his 
officer. 

At that moment he heard himself called in a 
weak voice, — 

Signor Captain! ’’ 

He turned round. It was his drummer-boy. 
He was lying on a cot bed, covered to the breast 
with a coarse window curtain, in red and white 
squares, with his arms on the outside, pale and 
thin, but his eyes still sparkled like black 
gems. 

“Are you here?” asked the captain, amazed, 
but still sharply. “ Bravo ! You did your duty.” 

“ I did all I could,” replied the drummer-boy. 

“ Were you wounded? ” said the captain, seek- 



A: 1^5. 


'^f ^ • 

.. - . 

. ■ f V 


■ ...v 

■* ^1^^ ti^- 


*‘THEN THE TROOP DARTED OUT OF THE DOOR.'' 




THE SARDINIAN DRUMMER-BOY. 113 


ing with his eyes for his officer in the neighbor- 
ing beds. 

What could one expect?” said the lad, who 
gained courage by speaking, expressing the lofty 
satisfaction of having been wounded for the first 
time, without which he would not have dared to 
open his mouth in the presence of this captain; 

I had a fine run, all bent over, but suddenly 
they caught sight of me. 1 should have arrived 
twenty minutes earlier if they had not hit me. 
Luckily, I soon came across a captain of the staff, 
to whom I gave the note. But it was hard work 
to get down after that little pat! I was dying of 
thirst. I was afraid that I should not get there 
at all. I wept with rage at the thought that at 
every moment of delay another man was setting 
out yonder for the other world. But enough ! I 
did what I could. I am content. But, with your 
permission, captain, you should look to yourself: 
you are losing blood.” 

Several drops of blood had in fact trickled down 
on the captain’s fingers from his imperfectly ban- 
daged palm. 

Would you like to have me give the bandage 
a turn, captain? Hold it here a minute.” 

The captain held out his left hand, and 
stretched out his right to help the lad to loosen 
the knot and to tie it again; but no sooner had 
the boy raised himself from his pillow than he 
turned pale and was obliged to fall back once 
more. 

'' That will do, that will do,” said the captain, 
looking at him and withdrawing his bandaged 


114 


JANUARY. 


hand, which the other tried to retain. Attend 
to yonr own affairs, instead of thinking of others, 
for things that are not severe may become serious 
if they are neglected.^^ 

The drummer-boy shook his head. 

“ But you,^^ said the captain, observing him at- 
tentively, must have lost a great deal of blood 
to be as weak as this.^^ 

Lost blood ! ” replied the boy, with a smile. 
Something else besides blood. Look ! ” He 
drew aside the coverlet. 

The captain started back in horror. 

The lad had but one leg. His left leg had 
been cut off above the knee; the stump was 
wrapped in blood-stained cloths. 

At that moment a small, fat, military surgeon 
passed, in his shirt-sleeves. Ah, captain,^^ he 
said, rapidly, nodding towards the drummer, 
this is a sad case ; there is a leg that might 
have been saved if he had not exerted himself in 
such a crazy manner — that cursed inflammation ! 
It had to be cut off away up here. Oh, but he’s 
a brave lad, I can assure you! He never shed 
a tear, nor uttered a cry 1 He was proud of being 
an Italian boy, while I was performing the opera- 
tion, upon my word of honor. He comes of a 
good race, by Heavens ! ” And away he went, on 
a run. 

The captain wrinkled his heavy, white brows, 
gazed fixedly at the drummer-boy, and spread the 
coverlet over him again, and slowly, almost un- 
consciously, and still gazing intently at him, he 
raised his hand to his head, and lifted his cap. 


THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. 


115 


Signor Captain! exclaimed the boy in amaze- 
ment. What are yon doing. Signor Captain? 
To me!^^ 

And then that rough soldier, who had never 
before said a gentle word to an inferior, replied 
in an indescribably sweet and tender voice, I 
am only a captain; you are a hero.” 

He bent over with wide-spread arms upon the 
drummer-boy, and pressed him three times to his 
heart. 


THE LOVE OF COUNTEY. 

Tuesday, 24th. 

Since the tale of the Drummer-hoy has touched your 
heart, it should be easy for you this morning to write 
your composition for examination —Why you love Italy 
— well. Why do I love Italy? Do not a hundred 
answers present themselves to you on the instant? 
I love Italy because my mother is an Italian; because 
the blood that flow^s in my veins is Italian; because 
the soil in which are buried the dead whom my 
mother mourns and whom my father venerates is 
Italian; because the town in which I was born, the 
language that I speak, the books that educate me,— 
because my brother, my sister, my comrades, the 
great people among whom I live, and the beautiful 
nature which surrounds me, and all that I see, that 
I love, that I study, that I admire, is Italian. 

Oh, you cannot feel that affection to the full! You 
will feel it when you become a man; when, returning 
from a long journey, after a prolonged absence, you 


IIG 


JANUARY. 


step up in the morning to the bulwarks of the vessel 
and see on the distant horizon the lofty blue moun- 
tains of your country; you will feel it then in the 
impetuous flood of tenderness which will fill your 
eyes with tears and will wrest a cry from your heart. 
You will feel it in some great and distant city, in 
that impulse of the soul which will draw you from 
the strange throng towards a workingman from 
whom you have heard in passing a word in your own 
tongue. You will feel it in that sad, haughty anger 
which will drive the blood to your brow when you 
hear insults to your country from the mouth of a 
stranger. You will feel it in more proud and vigorous 
measure on the day when the menace of a hostile race 
shall call forth a tempest of fire upon your country, 
and when you shall behold arms raging on every 
side, youths thronging in legions, fathers kissing their 
children and saying, “ Courage! ” mothers bidding 
adieu to their young sons and crying, “ Conquer! ” 
You will feel it like a joy divine, if you have the 
good fortune to behold the re-entrance to your town 
of the regiments, weary, ragged, with thinned ranks, 
yet terrible, with the splendor of victory in their eyes, 
and their banners torn by bullets, followed by a vast 
convoy of brave fellows, bearing their bandaged 
heads and their stumps of arms loftily, amid a wild 
throng, which covers them with flowers, with bless- 
ings, and with kisses. Then you will comprehend 
the love of country; then you will feel your country, 
Enrico. It is a grand and sacred thing. 

May I one day see you return in safety from a 
battle fought for her; safe,— you who are my flesh 
and soul. But if I should learn that you had pre- 


ENVY. 


117 


served your life because you were concealed from 
death, your father, who now welcomes you with a 
cry of joy when you return from school, would then 
receive you with a sob of anguish. I should never 
be able to love you again. I should die with that 
dagger in my heart. 

Youn Father. 


ENVY. 

Wednesday, 25th. 

The boy who wrote the best composition on 

The Love of Country ” was Derossi, as usual. 
And Yotini thought himself sure of the first 
medal! I like Votini well enough, although he 
is rather vain aud does dress up a trifle too much, 
— but it makes me scorn him, now that I am his 
neighbor on the bench, to see how envious he is 
of Derossi. He would like to rival him; he stud- 
ies hard, but he cannot do it by any possibility, 
for Derossi is ten times as strong as he is on every 
point; and Votini rails at him. Carlo Nobis en- 
vies him too; but he has so much pride in his 
body that, purely from pride, he keeps it hidden. 
AYtini, on the other hand, betrays himself: he 
complains at home of his difficulties, and says 
that the master is unjust to him. When Derossi 
replies so promptly and so well to questions, as 
he always does, Votini’s face clouds over, he hangs 
his head, pretends not to hear, or tries to laugh, 
but he laughs awkwardly. 

And every one knows about it, so that when 


118 


JANUARY. 


the master praises Derossi they all turn to look 
at Votini, who chews his venom^ and Murato- 
rino makes a harems face at him. To-day for in- 
stance, he was put on the rack. The principal 
entered the room and announced the result of the 
examination, — Derossi ten-tenths and the first 
medal.” 

Votini gave a huge sneeze. The master looked 
at him : it was not hard to understand the matter. 

Votini,” he said, do not let the serpent of envy 
enter your body; it is a serpent which gnaws at 
the brain and corrupts the heart.” 

Every one stared at him except Derossi. Vo- 
tini tried to make some answer, but could not ; he 
sat there as though turned to stone, and with a 
white face. Then, while the master was conduct- 
ing the lesson, he began to write in large charac- 
ters on a sheet of paper, I am not envious of 
those who gain the first medal through favoritism 
and injustice” It was a note which he meant to 
send to Derossi. But, in the meantime, I saw 
that Derossi’s neighbors were plotting among 
themselves, and whispering in each other’s ears, 
and one cut with a penknife from paper a big 
medal on which they had drawn a black serpent. 
Votini also noticed this. The master went out 
for a few moments. All at once Derossi’s friends 
rose and left their seats, for the purpose of com- 
ing and solemnly presenting the paper medal to 
Votini. The whole class was prepared for a scene. 
Votini had already begun to quiver all over. De- 
rossi exclaimed : — 

Give that to me ! ” 


FRANTI’S MOTHER. 


119 


So much the better/’ they replied; ^^you are 
the one who ought to carry it.” 

Derossi took the medal and tore it into bits. 
At that moment the master returned, and resumed 
the lesson. 1 kept my eye on Votini. He had 
turned as red as a coal. He took his sheet of 
paper very, very quietly, as though in absence of 
mind, rolled it into a ball, on the sly, put it into 
his mouth, chewed it a little, and then spit it out 
under the bench. When school broke up, Votini, 
who was a little confused, dropped his blotting- 
paper, as he passed Derossi. Derossi politely 
picked it up, put it in his satchel, and helped him 
to buckle the straps. Votini dared not raise his 
eyes. 


FEANTI’S MOTHEK. 

Saturday, 28th. 

But Votini is stubborn. Yesterday morning, 
during the lesson on religion, in the presence of 
the principal, the teacher asked Derossi if he 
knew by heart the two couplets in the reading- 
book, — 

“ Where’er I turn my gaze, 

’Tis Thee, great God, I see.” 

Derossi said that he did not, and Votini sud- 
denly exclaimed, I know them ! ” with a smile, 
as though to pique Derossi. But he was piqued 
himself, instead, for he could not recite the poetry, 
because Franti’s mother suddenly flew into the 
schoolroom, breathless, with her gray hair dis- 


120 


JANUARY. 


bevelled and all wet with snow, and pushing be- 
fore her her son, who had been suspended from 
school for a week. What a sad scene we were 
doomed to witness! The poor woman flung her- 
self almost on her knees before the principal, with 
clasped hands, and besought him : — 

“ Oh, Signor Director, do me the favor to put 
my boy back in school! He has been at home 
for three days. I have kept him hidden ; but God 
have mercy on him, if his father flnds out about 
this affair: he will murder him! Have pity! I 
no longer know what to do! I entreat you with 
my whole soul ! 

The principal tried to lead her out, but she 
resisted, still continuing to pray and to weep. 

Oh, if you only knew the trouble that this boy 
has caused me, you would have pity ! Do me this 
favor! I hope that he will reform. I shall not 
live long. Signor Director; I bear death within 
me; but I should like to see him reformed before 
my death, because — and she broke into a pas- 
sion of weeping — he is my son — I love him — 
I shall die in despair ! Take him back once more. 
Signor Director, that a misfortune may not hap- 
pen in the family! Do it out of pity for a poor 
woman ! ” And she covered her face with her 
hands and sobbed. 

Franti stood impassive, and hung his head. 
The head-master looked at him, reflected a little, 
then said, Franti, go to your place.” 

Then the woman removed her hands from her 
face, quite comforted, and began to express thanks 
upon thanks, without giving the director a chance 


HOPE. 


121 


to speak, and made her way towards the door, wip- 
ing her eyes, and saying hastily: 1 heg of you, 

my son. — May all have patience. — Thanks, Sig- 
nor Director; you have performed a deed of 
mercy. — Be a good boy. — Good day, boys. — 
Thanks, Signor Teacher; good-bye, and forgive 
a poor mother.^^ And after bestowing another 
supplicating glance at her son from the door, she 
went away, pulling up the shawl which was trail- 
ing after her, pale, bent, with a head which still 
shook, and we heard her coughing all the way 
down the stairs. The principal gazed intently at 
Franti, amid the silence of the class, and said to 
him in stern accents : — 

Franti, you are killing your mother ! 

^Ye all turned to look at Franti; and that in- 
famous boy smiled. 


HOPE. 

Sunday, 20th. 

Very beautiful, Enrico, w'as the impulse which 
made you fling yourself on your mother's heart on 
your return from your lesson on religion. Yes, your 
master said grand and consoling things to you. God 
threw us in each other’s arms; he will never part us. 
When I die, when your father dies, we shall not 
speak to each other those despairing words, “ Mam- 
ma, papa, Enrico, I shall never see you again!” We 
shall see each other again in another life, where he 
who has suffered much in this life will receive re- 
ward; where he who has loved much on earth will 
And again the souls whom he has loved, in a world 
without sin, without sorrow, and without death. 


122 


JANUARY. 


But we must all render ourselves worthy of that 
other life. Reflect, my son. Every good action of 
yours, every impulse of affection for those who love 
you, every courteous act towards your companions, 
every noble thought of yours, is like a leap towards 
that other world. And every misfortune, also, serves 
to raise you towards that world; every sorrow, since 
it is the expiation of a sin, just as every tear 
blots out a stain. Make it your rule to become better 
and more loving every day than the day before. Say 
every morning, “ To-day 1 shall do something for 
which my conscience will praise me, and with which 
my father will be satisfied; something which will 
render me beloved by such or such a comrade, by 
my teacher, by my brother, or by others.” And pray 
God to give you the’ sitrength to put your resolution 
into practice. ” Lord, I wish to be good, noble, 
courageous, gentle, sincere; help me; grant that every 
night, when my mother gives me her last kiss, I 
may be able to say to her, ‘ You kiss this night a 
nobler and more worthy boy than you kissed last 
nighit.’ ” 

Keep always in your thoughts that other super- 
natural and blessed Enrico which you may be after 
this life. And pray. You cannot imagine the sweet- 
ness that you experience, — hoAv much better a mother 
feels when she sees her child with hands clasped in 
prayer. When I behold you praying, it seems im- 
possible to me that there should not be some one 
there gazing at you and listening to you. Then I 
believe more flrmly that there is a Supreme goodness 
and an Infinite pity; 1 love you more, I work with 
more ardor, I endure with more force, I forgive with 
all my heart, and I think of death with serenity. 


HOPE. 


123 


O great and good God! To hear once more, after 
death, the voice of my mother, to meet my children 
again, to see my Enrico once more, my Enrico, 
blessed and immortal, and to clasp him in an em- 
brace which shall nevermore be loosed, nevermore, 
nevermore to all eternity! Oh, pray! let us pray, let 
us love each other, let us be good, let us bear this 
celestial hope in our hearts and souls, my adored 
child! 


Your Mother. 


124 


FEBRUARY. 


FEBRUARY. 


A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED. 

Saturday, 4th. 

This morning the superintendent of the 
schools, a gentleman with a white beard, and 
dressed in black, came to present the medals. He 
came in with the principal a little before the close 
and seated himself beside the teacher. He ques- 
tioned a few, then gave the first medal to Derossi, 
and before giving the second, he stood for a few 
moments listening to the teacher and the princi- 
pal, who were talking to him in a low voice. All 
were asking themselves, To whom will he give 
the second ? 

The superintendent said aloud : — “ Pupil' 

Pietro Precossi has merited the second medal this 
week, — merited it by his work at home, by his 
lessons, by his handwriting, by his conduct in 
every way.’^ 

All turned to look at Precossi, and seemed 
pleased. Precossi rose in such confusion that he 
did not know where he was. 

Come here,’^ said the superintendent. Pre- 
cossi sprang up from his seat and went to the mas- 
ter’s table. The superintendent looked atten- 
tively at the little waxen face, at the puny body 
enveloped in turned and ill-fitting garments, at 



A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED 





A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED. 


125 


the kind, sad eyes, which avoided his, but which 
hinted at a story of suffering ; then he said to him, 
in a voice full of affection, as he fastened the 
medal on his shoulder : — 

I give you the medal, Precossi. No one is 
more worthy to wear it than you. I bestow it 
not only on your intelligence and your good will; 
I bestow it on your heart, I give it to your cour- 
age, to your character of a brave and good son. 
Is it not true,^’ he added, turning to the class, 
that he deserves it also on that score ? ” 

Yes, yes ! all answered, with one voice. Pre- 
cossi made a movement of the throat as though 
he were swallowing something, and cast upon the 
benches a very sweet look, which bespoke his im- 
mense gratitude. 

Go, my dear boy,^^ said the superintendent; 
“ and may God protect you ! ” 

It was the hour for dismissing the school. Our 
class got out before the others. As soon as we 
were outside the door, whom should we espy 
there in the large hall just at the entrance? The 
father of Precossi, the blacksmith, pale as usual, 
with fierce face, hair hanging over his eyes, his 
cap awry, and unsteady on his legs. The teacher 
caught sight of him instantly, and whispered to 
the superintendent. The latter sought out Pre- 
cossi in haste, and taking him by the hand, he 
led him to his father. The boy was trembling. 
He and the superintendent approached; several 
of the boys collected around them. 

Is it true that you are the father of this lad? 
asked the superintendent of the blacksmith, with 


12G 


FEBRUARY. 


a cheerful air, as though they were friends. And, 
without awaiting a reply: — 1 rejoice with 

you. Look: he has won the second medal over 
fifty-four of his comrades. He has deserved it 
by his composition, his arithmetic, everything. 
He is a boy of great intelligence and good will, 
who will accomplish great things; a noble lad, 
who has gained the friendship and esteem of all. 
You may feel proud of him, I assure you.’^ 

The blacksmith, who had stood there with open 
mouth listening to him, stared at the superintend- 
ent and the principal, and then at his son, who 
was standing before him with downcast eyes and 
trembling; and as though he had remembered and 
comprehended then, for the first time, all that he 
had made the little fellow suffer, and all the good- 
ness, the heroic constancy, with which the latter 
had borne it, his face took on a certain stupid 
wonder, then a sullen remorse, and finally a sad, 
fierce tenderness; and with a quick movement he 
caught the boy round the head and strained him 
to his breast. 

We went out ahead of them. I invited him to 
come to the house on Thursday, with Garrone and 
Crossi; others bowed to him; one gave him a 
friendly pat, another touched his medal, all said 
something to him; and his father stared at us in 
amazement, as he still held his son’s head pressed 
to his breast, while the boy sobbed. 


GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 


127 


GOOD KESOLUTIONS. 

Sunday, 5th. 

The medal given to Precossi has awakened a 
regret in me. I have never earned one yet ! For 
some time past I have not been studying, and 1 
am discontented with myself; and the teacher, 
and my father and mother are discontented with 
me. 1 no longer take delight in amusing my- 
self as I did formerly, when I worked with a will, 
and then sprang up from the table and ran to my 
games full of joy, as though I had not played for 
a month. Neither do I sit down to the table with 
my family with the same contentment as of old. 
I have always a shadow in my soul, an inward 
voice, that says to me continually, It wonT do ; 
it won’t do.” 

In the evening I see a great many boys pass 
through the square on their return from work, 
in the midst of a group of workingmen, weary 
but merry. They step briskly along, impatient 
to reach their homes and suppers, and they talk 
loudly, laughing and slapping each other on the 
shoulder with hands blackened with coal, or 
whitened with plaster; and I reflect that they 
have been working since daybreak up to this hour. 
And with them are also many others, who are 
still smaller, who have been standing all day on 
the summits of roofs, in front of ovens, among 
machines, and in the water^ and underground, 
with nothing to eat but a little bread; and I feel 


128 


FEBRUARY. 


almost ashamed, that I in all that time have ac- 
complished nothing hnt scribble four small pages, 
and that reluctantly. 

Ah, I am discontented, discontented! I see 
plainly that my father is out of humor, and would 
like to tell me so; hut he is sorry, and he is still 
waiting. My dear father, who works so hard! 
all is yours, all that I see around me in the house, 
all that I touch, all that I wear and eat, all that 
teaches me or amuses me, — all is the fruit of 
your toil, and I do not work; all has cost you 
thought, privations, trouble, effort, and I make 
no effort. 

Ah, no; this is too unjust, and causes me too 
much pain. I will begin this very day; I will 
apply myself to my studies, like Stardi, with 
clenched fists and set teeth. I will set about it 
with all the strength of my will and my heart. I 
will conquer my drowsiness in the evening, I will 
come down promptly in the morning, I will cud- 
gel my brains without ceasing, I will punish my 
laziness without mercy. I will toil, suffer, even 
to the extent of making myself ill; but I will put 
a stop, once for all, to this aimless life, which is 
degrading me and causing sorrow to others. 
Courage! to work! To work with all my soul, 
and all my nerves! To work, which will restore 
to me sweet rest, pleasing games, cheerful meals! 
To work, which will give me back again the kindly 
smile of my teacher, the blessed kiss of my 
father! 


THE TRAIN OF CARS. 


129 


THE TEAIH OF CARS. 

Friday, 10th. 

Precossi came to our house to-day with Gar- 
rone. I do not think that two sons of princes 
would have been received with greater delight. 
This is the first time that Garrone has been here, 
because he is rather shy, and then he is ashamed 
to show himself because he is so large, and is still 
in the third grade. We all went to open the door 
when they rang. Cross! did not come, because his 
father has at last arrived from America, after an 
absence of seven years. My mother kissed Pre- 
cossi. My father introduced Garrone to her, say- 
ing:— 

“ Here is a lad who is not only a good boy ; he 
is a man of honor and a gentleman.’^ 

And the hoy dropped his big, shaggy head, with 
a sly smile at me. Precossi had on his medal, and 
he was happy, because his father has gone to work 
again, and has not drunk anything for the last 
five days, wants him to be always in the work- 
shop to keep him company, and seems quite an- 
other man. 

We began to play, and I brought out all my 
things. Precossi was delighted with my train of 
cars, and the engine that goes of itself on being 
wound up. He had never seen anything of the 
kind. He devoured the little red and yellow cars 
with his eyes. I gave him the key, and he knelt 
down to play with the train, and did not so much 


130 


FEBRUARY. 


as raise his head again. I have never seen him 
so happy. He kept saying, Excuse me, excuse 
me,^’ and motioning to us with his hands, not to 
stop the engine; and then he picked it up and 
started the cars with as much care as though they 
had been made of glass. He was afraid of tar- 
nishing them with his breath, and he polished 
them up again, looking them over, top and bot- 
tom, and smiling to himself. 

We stood around him and gazed at him. We 
looked at the slender neck, the poor little ears, 
which I had seen bleeding one day, the jacket 
with the sleeves turned up, the two sickly, little 
arms, which had been upraised to ward oft blows 
from his face. Oh! at that moment I could have 
cast all my playthings and all my books at his 
feet, I could have taken the last morsel of bread 
from my lips to give to him, I could have taken 
off my clothing to clothe him, I could have flung 
myself on my knees to kiss his hand. 

I shall at least give you the train,^^ I thought ; 
but flrst I must ask my father. At that moment 
I felt a bit of paper thrust into my hand. I 
looked; it was written in pencil by my father; it 
said : — 

“ Your train strikes Precossfls fancy. He has 
no playthings. Does your heart suggest nothing 
to you? 

Instantly I seized the engine and the cars in 
both hands, and placed them in his arms, say- 
ing: — 

Take this; it is yours.’’ 

He looked at me, and did not understand. 


PRIDE. 


131 


It is yours/’ I said ; I give it to you.” 

Then he looked at my father and mother, in 
still greater astonishment, and asked me : — 

But why? ” 

My father replied : — Enrico gives it to you 
because he is your friend, because he loves you — 
to celebrate your medal.” 

Precossi asked timidly : — 

I may carry it away — home? ” 

Of course ! ” we all responded. 

He was already at the door, but he dared not 
go out. He was happy! He begged our pardon 
with a mouth that smiled and quivered. Garrone 
helped him to wrap up the train in a handker- 
chief, and as he bent over, he made the things 
with which his pockets were filled rattle. 

Some day,” said Precossi to me, you shall 
come to the shop to see my father at work. I 
will give you some nails.” 

My mother put a little bunch of flowers into 
Garrone’s button-hole, for him to carrv to his 
mother in her name. Garrone said, Thank 
you,” in his big voice, without raising his chin 
from his breast. But all his kind and noble soul 
shone in his eyes. 


PRIDE. 

Saturday, 11th. 

The idea of Carlo Nobis rubbing off his sleeve 
affectedly, when Precossi touches him in passing! 
That fellow is pride personified because his father 


132 


FEBRUARY. 


is a rich man. But Derossi’s father is rich too. 
Nobis would like to have a bench to himself; he 
is afraid that the rest will soil it; he looks down 
on everybody and always has a scornful smile on 
his lips: woe to him who stumbles over his foot, 
when we go out in files two by two ! For a mere 
trifie he flings an insulting word in your face, or 
a threat to get his father to come to the school. 
It is true that his father did give him a good les- 
son when he called the little son of the charcoal- 
man a ragamuffin. I have never seen so disagree- 
able a schoolboy! No one speaks to him, no one 
says good-bye to him when he goes out; there is 
not even a dog who would prompt him when he 
does not know his lesson. He cannot endure any 
one, and he pretends to despise Derossi more than 
.all, because he is the head boy; and Garrone, be- 
cause he is beloved by all. But Derossi pays no 
attention to him when he is by; and when the 
boys tell Garrone that Nobis has been speaking 
ill of him,. he says: — 

“ His pride is so silly that it is not worth fight- 
ing about.^^ 

But Coretti said to him one day, when Nobis 
was smiling disdainfully at his catskin cap : — 
Go to Derossi for a while, and learn how to 
play the gentleman ! ” 

Yesterday he complained to the teacher, be- 
cause the Calabrian touched his leg with his foot. 
The teacher asked the Calabrian : — “ Did you 
do it intentionally? ’’ 

‘‘ No, sir,^’ he replied, frankly. 

“ You are too petulant. Nobis,” said the teachfer. 


PRIDE. 


133 


And ISTobis retorted, in his airy way, I shall 
tell my father about it.^^ Then the teacher got 
angry. 

Your father will telLybu that you are in the 
wrong, as he has on other occasions. And be- 
sides that, it is the teacher alone who has the right 
to judge and punish in school.^^ Then he added 
pleasantly : — 

Come, Nobis, change your ways; be kind and 
courteous to your comrades. You see, we have 
here sons of workingmen and of gentlemen, of 
the rich and the poor, and all love each other and 
treat each other like brothers, as they are. Why 
do not you do like the rest? It would not cost 
you much to make every one like you, and you 
would be so much happier yourself, too! — Well, 
have you no reply to make me?” 

Nobis, who had listened to him with his cus- 
tomarv scornful smile, answered coldly : — 

^^No, sir.” 

Sit down,” said the master to him. I am 
sorry for you. You are a boy without a heart.” 
This seemed to be the end of it all; but the 
little mason,” who sits on the front bench, 
turned his round face towards Nobis, who sits on 
the back bench, and made such a fine and ridicu- 
lous harems face at him, that the whole class burst 
into a shout of laughter. The master reproved 
him; but he was obliged to put his hand over his 
own mouth to hide a smile. And even Nobis 
laughed, but not in a pleasant way. 


134 


FEBRUARY. 


THE WOUNDS OF LABOK. 

Monday, 15th. 

Nobis can be paired off with Eranti: neither 
of them was affected this morning by the terrible 
sight which passed before our eyes. 

On coming out of school, I was standing with 
my father and looking at some big boys of the 
second grade, who had thrown themselves on their 
knees and were wiping off the ice with their cloaks 
and caps, in order to make slides more quickly, 
when we saw a crowd of people appear at the end 
of the street, walking hurriedly, all serious and 
seemingly terrified, and talking in low tones. In 
the midst of them were three policemen, and be- 
hind the policemen two men carrying a litter. 
Boys hastened up from all quarters. The crowd 
advanced towards us. On the litter was stretched 
a man, pale as a corpse, with his head resting on 
one shoulder, and his hair tumbled and stained 
with blood, for he had been losing blood through 
the mouth and ears; and beside the litter walked 
a woman with a baby in her arms, who seemed 
crazy, and who shrieked from time to time, 

“ He is dead ! He is dead ! He is dead ! ” 
Behind the woman came a boy who had a 
satchel under his arm and who was sobbing. 

What has happened?^’ asked my father. A 
neighbor replied, that the man was a mason who 
had fallen from the fourth story while at work. 
The bearers of the litter halted for a moment. 


THE WOUNDS OF LABOR. 


135 


Many turned away their faces in horror. I saw 
the schoolmistress of the red feather supporting 
my mistress of the upper first, who was almost in 
a swoon. At the same moment I felt a touch on 
the elbow ; it was the little mason/’ who was 
ghastly white and trembling from head to foot. 
He was certainly thinking of his father. I was 
thinking of him, too. I, at least, am at peace in 
my mind while I am in school: I know that my 
father is at home, seated at his table, far removed 
from all danger; but how many of my compan- 
ions think that their fathers are at work on a very 
high bridge or close to the wheels of a machine, 
and that a movement, a single false step, may cost 
them their lives! They are like so many sons of 
soldiers who have fathers in the battle. “ Mura- 
torino ” gazed and gazed, and trembled more and 
more, and my father noticed it and said : — 

do home, my boy; go at once to your father, 
and you will find him safe and sound ; go ! ” 

The little mason ” went off, turning round at 
every step. And in the meanwhile the crowd had 
begun to move again, and the woman to shriek 
in a way that rent the heart. 

He is dead ! He is dead 1 He is dead 1 ” 

‘^No, no; he is not dead,” people on all sides 
said to her. But she paid no heed to them, and 
tore her hair. 

Then I heard an indignant voice say, “ You are 
laughing 1 ” and at the same moment I saw a 
bearded man staring in Franti’s smiling face. 
Then the man knocked Franti’s cap to the ground 
with his stick, saying : — 


136 


FEBRUARY. 


Uncover your head, you wicked boy, when a 
man wounded by labor is passing by ! 

The crowd had already passed, and a long 
streak of blood was to be seen in the middle of 
the street. 


THE PRISONER. 

Friday, 17th. 

Ah, this is certainly the strangest event of the 
whole year! Yesterday morning my father took 
me to the suburbs of Moncalieri, to look at a villa 
which he thought of hiring for the coming sum- 
mer, because we shall not go to Chieri again this 
year, and it turned out that the person who had 
the keys was a teacher who acts as secretary to 
the owner. He showed us the house, and then 
he took us to his own room, where he gave us 
something to drink. On his table, among the 
glasses, there was a wooden inkstand, of a conical 
form, carved in a singular manner. Noting that 
my father was looking at it, the teacher said : — 

“ That inkstand is very precious to me : if you 
only knew its history, sir ! And he told it. 

Years ago he was a teacher at Turin, and all 
one winter went daily to give lessons to the pris- 
oners in the judicial prison. He gave the lessons 
in the chapel of the jail, which is a circular build- 
ing, and all around it, on the high, bare walls, are 
' a great many little square windows, covered with 
two cross-bars of iron, each one of which corre- 
sponds to a very small cell inside. He gave his 
lessons as he paced about the dark, cold chapel, 


THE PRISONER. 


137 


and his scholars stood at the holes, with their 
copy-books resting against the gratings, showing 
nothing in the shadow but wan, frowning faces, 
gray and ragged beards, staring eyes of murder- 
ers and thieves. 

Among the rest there was one, No. 78, who 
was more attentive than all the others, and who 
studied a great deal, and gazed at his teacher with 
eyes full of respect and gratitude. He was a 
young man, with a black beard, more unfortunate 
than wicked, a cabinet-maker who, in a fit of rage, 
had flung a plane at his master, who had been per- 
secuting him for some time, and had inflicted a 
mortal wound on his head: for this he had been 
condemned to several years of imprisonment. 

In three months he had learned to read and 
write, and he read constantly; and the more he 
learned, the better he seemed to become, and the 
more remorseful for his crime. One day, at the 
conclusion of the lesson, he made a sign to the 
teacher to come near to his little window, and told 
him that he was to leave Turin on the following 
day, to go and expiate his crime in the prison at 
Venice. As he bade him farewell, he begged in a 
humble and much moved voice, that he might be 
allowed to touch the teacher’s hand. The teacher 
offered him his hand, and he kissed it; then he 
said: — ‘^Thanks! thanks!” and disappeared. 
The master drew back his hand; it was bathed 
with tears. After that he did not see the man 
again. 

Six years passed. 

I was thinking of anything except that unfor- 


138 


FEBRUARY. 


lunate man” said the teacher, when, the other 
morning, I saw a stranger come to the house, — a 
man with a large, black beard already sprinkled 
with gray, and badly dressed, who said to me: 
^Are you the teacher So-and-So, sir?^ ^ Who are 
you? ^ I asked him. ‘ I am prisoner No. 78,^ he 
replied ; ^ you taught me to read and write six 
years ago ; if you recollect, you gave me your hand 
at the last lesson; 1 have now expiated my crime, 
and I have come — to beg you to do me the favor 
of accepting a memento of me, a poor little thing 
which I made in prison. Will you accept it in 
memory of me, Signor Master? ^ 

I stood there speechless. He thought that I 
did not wish to take it, and he looked at me as 
much as to say, ^ So six years of suffering are not 
sufficient to cleanse my hands ! ^ But he gazed 
at me with so much pain, that I instantly ex- 
tended my hand and took the little object. This 
is it.^^ 

We looked closely at the inkstand : it seemed to 
have been carved very laboriously with the point 
of a nail. On its top was graven a pen lying 
across a copy-book, and around it was written: 

To my teacher. A memento of No. 78. Six 
years!” And below, in small letters, ‘‘Study 
and hope.” 

The teacher said nothing more; we went away. 
But all the way from Moncalieri to Turin I could 
not get that prisoner standing at his little window, 
that farewell to his master, that poor inkstand 
made in prison, which told so much, out of my 
head; and I dreamed of them all night, and was 


THE PRISONER. 


139 


still thinking of them this morning — far enough 
from imagining the surprise which awaited me at 
school! No sooner had I taken my new seat, be- 
side Derossi, and written my problem in arith- 
metic for the monthly examination, than I told my 
companion the story of the prisoner and the ink- 
stand, and how the inkstand was made, with the 
pen across the copy-book, and the inscription 
around it, Six years! 

Derossi sprang up at these words, and began to 
look first at me and then at Crossi, the son of the 
vegetable-vendor, who sat on the bench in front, 
with his back turned to us, wholly absorbed on 
his problem. 

Hush ! he said ; then, in a low voice, catch- 
ing me by the arm, don’t you know that Crossi 
spoke to me day before yesterday of having caught 
a glimpse of an inkstand in the hands of his 
father, who has returned from America; a conical 
inkstand, made by hand, with a copy-book and a 
pen? — that is the one; six years! He said that 
his father was in America; instead of that he was 
in prison: Crossi was a little boy at the time of 
the crime; he does not remember it; his mother 
has deceived him; he knows nothing; let not a 
syllable of this escape ! ” 

I remained speechless, with my eyes fixed on 
Crossi. Then Derossi solved his problem, and 
passed it under the bench to Crossi ; he gave him 
a sheet of paper; he took out of his hands the 
monthly story. Daddy s Nurse, which the teacher 
had given him to copy out, in order that he might 
copy it for him; he gave him pens, and stroked his 


140 


FEBRUARY. 


shoulder, and made me promise on my honor that 
I would say nothing to any one; and when we 
left school, he said to me hastily : — 

His father came to get him yesterday ; he will 
be here again this morning: do as I do.^^ 

We went into the street. Crosses father was 
there, a little to one side: a man with a black 
beard sprinkled with gray, badly dressed, and 
with a colorless, thoughtful face. Derossi shook 
Crosses hand, in a way to attract attention, and 
said to him in a loud tone, “ Farewell until we 
meet again, Crossi,” — and passed his hand under 
his chin. I did the same. But as he did so, 
Derossi turned crimson, and so did I; and Crossi’s 
father gazed straight at us, with a kindly glance; 
but through it shone a look of distrust and doubt 
which made our hearts grow cold. 


DADDWS NUESE. 

{Monthly Story.) ^ 

One morning, on a rainy day in March, a lad 
dressed like a country boy, all wet and muddy, 
with a bundle of clothes under his arm, came up 
to the porter of the great hospital at Naples, and, 
presenting a letter, asked for his father. He had 
a fine, oval face, of a pale brown hue, thoughtful 
eyes, and two thick lips, always half open, which 
displayed extremely white teeth. He came from 
a village in the neighborhood of Naples. His 
father, who had left home a year previously to 


DADDY’S NURSE. 


141 


seek work in France, had returned to Italy, and 
had landed a few days before at Naples, where, 
having fallen suddenly ill, he had hardly time to 
write a line to announce his arrival to his family, 
and to say that he was going to the hospital. His 
wife, in despair at this news, and unable to leave 
home because she had a sick child, and a baby to 
tend, had sent her eldest son to Naples, with a 
tew soldi, to help his father — his daddy, as they 
called him. The boy had walked ten miles. 

The porter, after glancing at the letter, called 
a nurse and told him to conduct the lad to his 
father. 

Whose father?^’ inquired the nurse. 

The boy, trembling with terror, lest he should 
hear bad news, gave the name. 

The nurse did not recall such a name. 

“ An old laborer, arrived from abroad? he 
asked. 

“ Yes, a laborer,'^ replied the lad, still more 
uneasy; not so very old. Yes, arrived from 
abroad.^’ 

^^When did he enter the hospital?^’ asked the 
nurse. 

The lad glanced at his letter; Five days ago, 
I think.” 

The nurse stood a while in thought; then, as 
though suddenly recalling him ; Ah ! ” he said, 
the furthest bed in the fourth ward.” 

“Is he very ill? How is he?” inquired the 
boy, anxiously. 

The nurse looked at him, without replying. 
Tlien he said, “ Come with me.” 


142 


FEBRUARY. 


They ascended two flights of stairs, walked to 
the end of a long corridor, and found themselves 
facing the open door of a large hall, wherein two 
rows of beds were arranged. Coine,^’ repeated 
the nurse, entering. The boy plucked up his 
courage, and followed him, casting terrified 
glances to right and left, on the pale, emaciated 
faces of the sick people, some of whom had their 
eyes closed, and seemed to be dead, while others 
were staring into the air, with their eyes wide 
open and fixed, as though frightened. Some 
were moaning like children. The big room was 
dark, the air was filled with an acute odor of 
medicines. Two sisters of charity were going 
about with phials in their hands. 

Arrived at the end of the great room, the nurse 
halted at the head of a bed, drew aside the cur- 
tains and said, “ Here is your father.” 

The boy burst into tears, and letting fall his 
bundle, he dropped his head on the sick man’s 
shoulder, clasping with one hand the arm which 
w^as lying motionless on the coverlet. The sick- 
man did not move. 

The boy rose to his feet, and looked at his 
father, and broke into a fresh fit of weeping. 
Then the sick man gave a long look at him, and 
seemed to recognize him; but his lips did not 
move. Poor daddy, how he was changed! The 
son would never have recognized him. His hair 
had turned white, his beard had grown, his face 
was swollen, of a dull red hue, with the skin 
tightly drawn and shining, his eyes were dimin- 
ished in size, his lips were verv thick, and his 
whole countenance was altered. There was no 


DADDY’S NURSE. 


143 


longer anything natural about him but his fore- 
head and the arch of his eyebrows. He breathed 
with difficulty. 

Daddy ! daddy ! said the boy, it is I ; don’t 
you know me? 1 am Cicillo, your own Cicillo, 
who has come from the country : mamma has sent 
me. Take a good look at me; don’t you know 
me? Say one word to me.” 

But the sick man, after having looked at him, 
closed his eyes. 

“ Daddy ! daddy ! What is the matter with 
you? I am your little son — your own Cicillo.” 

The sick man did not stir, and continued to 
breathe painfully. 

Then the lad, still weeping, took a chair, seated 
himself and waited, without taking his eyes from 
his father’s face. A doctor will surely come to 
pay him a visit,” he thought ; he will tell me 
something.” And he gave himself up to sad 
thoughts, recalling many things about his kind 
father, — the day of parting, when he had said the 
last good-bye to him on board the ship, the hopes 
which his family had founded on his journey, the 
anguish of his mother on the arrival of the letter. 
Then he thought of death: he beheld his father 
dead, his mother dressed in black, the family in 
misery. He remained a long time thus. A light 
hand touched him on the shoulder, and he 
started up: it was a nun. 

What is the matter with my father? ” he asked 
her quickly. 

Is he your father? ” said the sister gently. 

Yes, he is my father; I have come. What 
ails him? ” 


144 


FEBRUARY. 


Courage, my boy,^’ replied the sister; ‘Hhe 
doctor will be here soon now.^^ And she went 
away without saying anything more. 

Half an hour later he heard the sound of a bell, 
and he saw the doctor enter at the further end of 
the hall, accompanied by an assistant; the sister 
and a nurse followed him. They began the visit, 
pausing at every bed. This time of waiting 
seemed an eternity to the lad, and his anxiety in- 
creased at every step of the doctor. At length 
they arrived at the next bed. The doctor was an 
old man, tall and stooping, with a grave face. 
Before he left the next bed the boy rose to his 
feet, and when he approached he began to cry. 

The doctor looked at him. 

He is the sick man’s son,” said the sister ; 
“ he arrived this morning from the country.” 

The doctor placed one hand on his shoulder; 
then bent over the sick man, felt his pulse, 
touched his forehead, and asked a few questions 
of the sister, who replied, “ There is nothing 
new.” Then he thought for a while and said. 

Continue the present treatment.” 

Then the boy took courage, and asked in a 
tearful voice, “ What is the matter with my 
father? ” 

Be brave, my boy,” replied the doctor, laying 
his hand on his shoulder once more ; he has 
erysipelas of the face. It is a serious case, but 
there is still hope. Help him. Your presence 
may do him a great deal of good.” 

“ But he does not know me ! ” exclaimed the 
boy in a mournful tone. 


DADDY’S NURSE. 


145 


“ He will recognize you — to-morrow, perhaps. 
Let us hope for the best and keep up our courage.’^ 

The boy would have liked to ask some more 
questions, but he did not dare. The doctor 
passed on. And then he began his life of nurse. 
As he could do nothing else, he arranged the cov- 
erlets of the sick man, touched his hand every 
now and then, drove away the flies, bent over him 
at every groan, and when the sister brought him 
something to drink, he took the glass or the spoon 
from her hand, and gave it in her stead. The 
sick man looked at him occasionally, but he gave 
no sign of recognition. However, his glance 
rested longer on the lad each time, especially when 
the latter put his handkerchief to his eyes. 

Thus passed the first day. At night the boy 
slept on two chairs, in a corner of the ward, and 
in the morning he resumed his work of mercy. 
That day it seemed as though the eyes of the sick 
man revealed a dawning of consciousness. At the 
sound of the boy’s soothing voice a vague ex- 
pression of gratitude seemed to gleam for an in- 
stant in his pupils, and once he moved his lips a 
little, a^ though he wanted to say something. 
After each brief nap he seemed, on opening his 
eyes, to seek his little nurse. The doctor, who 
had passed twice, thought he noted a slight im- 
provement. Towards evening, on putting the cup 
to his lips, the lad fancied that he saw a very 
faint smile glide across the swollen lips. Then 
he began to take comfort and to hope; and with 
the hope of being understood, confusedly at least, 
he talked to him — talked to him at great length 


146 


FEBRUARY. 


— of his mother, of his little sisters, of his own 
return home; and he exhorted him to courage, 
with warm and loving words. And although he 
often doubted whether he was heard, he still 
talked; for it seemed to him that even if he did 
not understand him, the sick man listened with a 
certain pleasure to his voice, — to that unaccus- 
tomed intonation of affection and sorrow. 

Thus passed the second day, and the third, and 
the fourth, with slight improvements or unex- 
pected changes for the worse; and the boy was 
so absorbed in all his cares, that he hardly nib- 
bled a bit of bread and cheese twice a day, when 
the sister brought it to him, and hardly saw what 
was going on around him, — the dying patients, 
the sudden running up of the sisters at night, the 
moans and despairing gestures of visitors, — all 
those doleful scenes of hospital life, which on any 
other occasion would have shocked and alarmed 
him. 

Hours, days passed, and still he was there with 
his daddy; watchful, wistful, trembling at every 
sigh and at every look, shaken continually be- 
tween a hope which relieved his mind qjjd a dis- 
couragement which froze his heart. 

On the fifth day the sick man suddenly grew 
worse. The doctor, on being questioned, shook 
his head, as much as to say that all was over, and 
the boy flung himself on a chair and burst out 
sobbing. But one thing comforted him. In spite 
of the fact that he was worse, the sick man 
seemed to be slowly regaining a little conscious- 
ness. He stared at the lad with increasing atten- 
tion, and, with an expression which grew in sweet- 


DADDY’S NURSE. 


147 


ness, would take his drink and medicine from no 
one but him, and made strenuous efforts with his 
lips with greater frequency, as though he were 
trying to pronounce some word. He did it so 
plainly sometimes that his son grasped his arm 
violently, inspired by a sudden hope, and said to 
him in a tone which was almost that of joy, — 
Courage, courage, daddy ; you will get well, 
we will go away from here, we will go home to 
mamma ; courage, for a little while longer ! ” 

It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and just 
as the boy had abandoned himself to one of 
these outbursts of tenderness and hope, that a 
sound of footsteps was heard outside the nearest 
door in the ward, and then a strong voice utter- 
ing two words only, — Farewell, sister!” — 
which made him spring to his feet, with a stifled 
cry in his throat. 

At that moment a man with a bundle in his 
hand entered the ward, followed by a sister. 

The boy uttered a sharp cry, and stood rooted 
to the spot. 

The man turned round, looked at him for a 
moment, and cried in his turn, — Cicillo ! ” — 
and darted towards him. 

The boy fell into his father’s arms, choking 
with emotion. 

The sister, the nurse, and the assistant ran up, 
and stood there in amazement. 

The boy could not recover his voice. 

Oh, my Cicillo I ” exclaimed the father, after 
casting a searching glance on the sick man, as he 
kissed the boy repeatedly. '' Cicillo, my son, how 


118 


FEBRUARY. 


is this? They took you to the bedside of an- 
other man. And there was I, in despair at not 
seeing you after mamma had written, ‘ I have 
sent him.^ Poor Cicillo! How many days have 
you been here? How did this mistake occur? I 
have come out of it easily! I have a good con- 
stitution, you know! And how is mamma? And 
Concettella? And the little baby?: — How are 
they all? I am leaving the hospital now. Come, 
then. Oh, good Heaven ! Who would have 
thought it! ” 

The boy tried to say a few words, to tell the 
news of the family. Oh how happy I am ! he 
stammered. “ How happy I am ! What terrible 
days I have passed ! And he could not finish 
kissing his father. 

But he did not stir. 

Come,’’ said his father; we can get home 
this evening.” And he drew the lad towards him. 
The boy turned to look at his patient. 

^‘Well, are you coming or not?” his father 
asked, in amazement. 

The boy gave still another look at the sick man, 
who opened his eyes at that moment and gazed in- 
tently at him. 

Then a fiood of words poured from his very 
soul. “Ho, daddy; wait — here. — I can’t. Here 
is this old man. I have been here for five days. 
He watches me all the time. I thought he was 
you. I love him dearly. He looks at me; I give 
him his drink; he wants me always beside him; 
he is very ill now. Have patience ; I have not the 
courage — I don’t know — it pains me too much ; 
I will go home to-morrow ; let me stay here a little 


DADDY’S NURSE. 


149 


longer; I don^t at all like to leave him.^ See how 
he looks at me! I don^t know who he is, but he 
wants me; he will die alone: let me stay here, 
dear daddy I ” 

Bravo, little fellow! exclaimed the attendant. 

The father stood in perplexity, staring at the 
hoy; then he looked at the sick man. Who is 
he ? he inquired. 

“A countryman, like yourself,^^ replied the at- 
tendant, just arrived from abroad, and who en- 
tered the hospital on the very day you did. He 
was out of his senses when they brought him here, 
and could not speak. Perhaps he has a family far 
away, and sons. He probably thinks that your 
son is one of his.^^ 

The sick man was still looking at the boy. 

The father said to Cicillo, “ Stay.^^ 

He will not have to stay much longer,^^ mur- 
mured the attendant. 

Stay,^’ repeated his father : “ you have heart. 
I will go home at once, to relieve mammals dis- 
tress. Here is a scudo for your expenses. Good- 
bye, my brave little son, until we meet ! 

He embraced him, looked at him fixedly, kissed 
him again on the brow, and went away. 

The boy went back to his post at the bedside, 
and the sick man appeared consoled. And Cicillo 
began again to play the nurse, no longer weeping, 
but with the same eagerness, the same patience, as 
before; he again began to give the man his drink, 
to arrange his bedclothes, to caress his hand, to 
speak softly to him, to exhort him to courage. 
He attended him all that day, all that night; he 


150 


FEBRUARY. 


remained beside him all the following day. But 
the sick man continued to grow constantly worse; 
his face turned a purple color, his breathing grew 
heavier, he grew more restless, inarticulate cries 
escaped his lips, the swelling became greater. On 
his evening visit, the doctor said that he would 
not live through the night. And then Cicillo re- 
doubled his cares, and never took his eyes from 
him for a minute. The sick man gazed and gazed 
at him, and kept moving his lips from time to 
time, with great effort, as though he wanted to 
say something. And an expression of extraordi- 
nary tenderness passed over his eyes now and then, 
as they continued to grow smaller and more dim. 
And that night the boy watched with him until 
he saw the first rays of dawn gleam white through 
the windows, and the sister appeared. The sister 
approached the bed, cast a glance at the patient, 
and then went away with rapid steps. A few 
moments later she reappeared with the assistant 
doctor, and with a nurse, who carried a lantern. 

He is at his last gasp,’’ said the doctor. 

The boy clasped the sick man’s hand. The 
latter opened his eyes, gazed at him, and closed 
them once more. 

At that moment the lad fancied that he felt a 
pressure of the hand. He pressed my hand ! ” 
he exclaimed. 

The doctor bent over the patient for an instant, 
then straightened himself up. 

The sister took a crucifix from the wall. 

He is dead ! ” cried the boy. 

Go, my son,” said the doctor : your work of 


THE WORKSHOP. 


151 


inerc}'^ is finished. Go, and may fortune attend 
you! for you deserve it. God will protect you. 
Farewell 1 ” 

The sister, who had stepped aside for a moment, 
returned with a little bunch of violets which she 
had taken from a glass on the window-sill, and 
handed them to the boy, saying : — 

I have nothing else to give you. Take these 
in memory of the hospital.^’ 

I thank you,^’ said the boy, taking the bunch 
of flowers with one hand and drying his eyes with 
the other; but 1 have such a long distance to go 
on foot — I shall spoil them.^^ And loosening the 
violets, he scattered them over the bed, saying: 

I leave them in remembrance of my poor, dead 
man. Thank you, sister ! thank you, doctor ! 
Then, turning to the dead man, Farewell — ” 
And while he sought a name to give him, the sweet 
name which he had applied to him for five days 
recurred to his lips, — Farewell, poor daddy ! ” 

So saying, he took his little bundle of clothes 
under his arm, and, with slow, weary steps, he 
walked away. 

The day was dawning. 


THE WOEKSHOP. 

Saturday, 18th. 

Precossi came last night to remind me that I 
was to go and see his workshop, which is down the 
street. So this morning when I went out with my 


152 


FEBRUARY. 


father, I got him to take me there for a moment. 
As we neared the shop, Garoffi issued from it on a 
run, with a package in his hand, his big cloak, with 
which he hides his merchandise, fluttering in the 
wind. Ah ! now I know where he goes to get the 
iron filings, which he sells for old papers, that 
trader of a Garoffi! 

When we came to the door, we saw Precossi 
seated on a little pile of bricks, studying his lesson, 
with his book resting on his knees. He rose 
quickly and invited us to enter. It was a large 
room, full of coal-dust, bristling with hammers, 
pincers, bars, and old iron of every description; 
and in one corner burned a fire in a small furnace, 
where puffed a pair of bellows worked by a boy. 
Precossi, the father, was standing near the anvil, 
and a young man was holding a bar of iron in the 
fire. 

^^Ah 1 here he is,” said the smith, as soon, as he 
caught sight of us, and he lifted his cap, the 
nice boy who gives away railway trains! He has 
come to see me work a little, has he not? I shall 
be at your service in a moment.” 

And as he said it, he smiled; and he no longer 
had the savage face, the evil eyes of former days. 
The young man handed him a long bar of iron 
heated red-hot on one end, and the smith placed 
it on the anvil. He was making one of those 
curved bars for the rail of terrace balustrades. 
He raised a. large hammer and began to beat the 
bar, pushing the heated part now here, now there, 
between one point of the anvil and the middle, 
and turning it about in various ways ; and it was a 


THE WORKSHOP. 


153 


marvel to see how the iron curved beneath the 
rapid and accurate blows of the hammer, and 
twisted, and gradually assumed the graceful form 
of a leaf torn from a flower, shaped as though it 
were of dough which he had modelled with his 
hands. And meanwhile his son watched us with a 
certain air of pride, as much as to say, See how 
my father works ! ” 

“ Do you see how it is done, little master? ” the 
blacksmith asked me, when he had flnished, hold- 
ing out the bar, which looked like a bishop’s 
crosier. Then he laid it aside, and thrust another 
into the Are. 

“ That was very well made, indeed,” my father 
said to him. And he added, So you are working 
— eh? You have returned to good habits? ” 

“ Yes, I have returned,” replied the workman, 
wiping away the perspiration, and reddening a 
little. ^^And do you know who made me return 
to them?” My father pretended not to under- 
stand. This brave boy,” said the blacksmith, 
indicating his son with his finger ; “ the boy who 
studied and did honor to his father, while his 
father rioted, and treated him like a dog. When 
I saw that medal — Ah ! thou little lad of mine, 
no bigger than a soldo* of cheese, come here, that 
I may get a good look at you ! ” 

The boy ran to him instantly; the smith took 
him and put him on the anvil, holding him under 
the arms, and said to him : — 

Scrub off the front of this big beast of a 
daddy of yours a little! ” 

* The twentieth part of a cubit; Florentine measure. 


154 


FEBRUARY. 


And then Precossi covered his father’s black 
face with kisses, until he was all black himself. 

That’s the way to do it,” said the smith, and 
he set him on the ground again. 

That really is the way, Precossi ! ” exclaimed 
my father delighted. And bidding the smith and 
his son good day, he led me away. As I was going 
out, little Precossi said to me, Excuse me,” and 
thrust a packet of nails into my pocket. I in- 
vited him to come and view the Carnival from my 
house. 

You gave him your railway train,” my father 
said to me in the street ; “ but if it had been made 
of gold and filled with pearls, it would still have 
' been but a petty gift to that sainted son, who has 
reformed his father’s heart.” '• 


THE LITTLE CLOWN. 

Monday, 20th. 

The whole city is in a tumult over the Carnival, 
which is nearing its close. In every square rise 
booths of mountebanks and jesters; and we have 
under our windows a circus-tent, in which a little 
Venetian company, with five horses, is giving a 
show. The circus is in the centre of the square; 
and in one corner there are three very large vans 
in which the mountebanks sleep and dress them- 
selves, — three small houses on wheels, with their 
tiny windows, and a chimney in each of them, 
which smokes continually; and between window 


THE LITTLE CLOWN. 


155 


and window the baby’s swaddling-bands are 
stretched. There is one woman who nurses a 
child, prepares the food, and dances on the tight- 
rope. 

Poor people! The word mountebank is spoken 
as though it were an insult; hut they earn their 
living honestly, nevertheless, by amusing all the 
world. And how they work! All day long they 
run back and forth between the circus-tent and 
the vans, in tights, in all this cold; they snatch a 
mouthful or two in haste, standing, between two 
performances. And sometimes, when they get 
their tent full, a wind arises, wrenches away the 
ropes and puts out the lights, and then good-bye 
to the show! They are obliged to return the 
money, and to work the entire night at repairing 
their booth. 

There are two lads who work; and my father 
recognized the smallest one as he was going across 
the square. He is the son of the proprietor, the 
same one whom we saw perform tricks on horse- 
back last year in a circus on the Piazza Vittorio 
Emanuele. And he has grown ; he must he eight 
years old. He is a handsome boy, with a round 
and roguish face, and with so many black curls 
that they escape from his pointed cap. He is 
dressed up like a clown, decked out in a sort of 
sack, with sleeves of white, embroidered with 
black, and his slippers are of cloth. He is a merry 
little imp. He charms every one. He does every- 
thing. We see him early in the morning, wrapped 
in a shawl, carrying milk to his wooden house; 
then he goes to get the horses at the stable on the 


15G 


FEBRUARY. 


Via Bertola. He holds the tiny baby in his arms; 
he carries hoops, trestles, rails, ropes; he cleans 
the vans, lights the tire, and in his leisure moments 
he always hangs about his mother. My father is 
always watching him from the window, and does 
nothing hut talk about him and his family, who 
have the air of nice people, and of being fond of 
their children. 

One evening we went to the circus. It was cold, 
and there was hardly any one there ; but the little 
clown did his best to keep the crowd merry. He 
made risky leaps; he caught hold of the horses’ 
tails ; he walked, all alone, with his legs in the air ; 
he sang, always with a smile on his handsome, 
little, brown face. And his father, who had on a 
red vest and white trousers, wi^h tall boots, and a 
whip in his hand, watched him. It was really 
pitiful. My father was sorry for him, and spoke 
of him on the following day to Delis the painter, 
who came to see us. These poor people were 
killing themselves with hard work, and their affairs 
were going so badly! The little boy pleased him 
so much! What could he done for them? The 
artist had an idea. 

Write a fine article for the Gazette,^’ he said : 
you know how to write well. Tell the wonderful 
things which the little clown does, and I will 
draw his portrait for you. Everybody reads the 
Gazette, and people will flock to see the circus.” 

They did so. My father wrote a good article, 
full of jests, which told all that we had seen from 
the window, and made people want to see and pet 
the little artist. And the painter sketched a little 


THE LITTLE CLOWN. 


157 


portrait which was graceful and a good likeness, 
and which was published on Saturday evening. 
And behold! at the Sunday performance a great 
crowd rushed to the circus. The announcement 
was made : Benefit Performanee for the Little 
Clown, as he was styled in the Gazette. The circus 
was crammed; many of the spectators held the 
Gazette in their hands, and showed it to the little 
clown, who laughed and ran from one to another, 
perfectly delighted. The proprietor was de- 
lighted also. Just fancy! Not a single newspaper 
had ever done him such an honor, and the money- 
box was filled. 

My father sat beside me. Among the spectators 
we found persons w'e knew. Near the entrance 
for the horses stood the teacher of gymnastics — 
the one who has been with Garibaldi; and oppo- 
site us, in the second row, was the little mason,” 
with his small, round face, seated beside his 
gigantic father; and no sooner did he catch sight 
of me than he made a hare’s face at me. A little 
farther on I espied Garoffi, who was counting the 
spectators, and calculating on his fingers how 
much money the company had taken in. On one 
of the chairs in the first row, not far from us, 
there was also poor Eobetti, the hoy who saved 
the child from the omnibus, with his crutches be- 
tween his knees, pressed close to the side of his 
father, the artillery captain, who kept one hand on 
his shoulder. 

The performance began. The little clown did 
wonders on his horse, on the trapeze, on the tight- 
rope; and every time that he jumped down, every 


158 


FEBRUARY. 


one clapped their hands, and many pulled ^his 
curls. Then several others, rope-dancers, jugglers, 
and riders, clad in tights, and sparkling with 
silver, went through their acts ; but when the boy 
was not performing, the audience seemed to grow 
weary. At a certain point I saw the teacher of 
gymnastics, who held his post at the entrance for 
the horses, whisper in the ear of the proprietor of 
the circus, and the latter instantly glanced around, 
as though in search of some one. His glance 
rested on us. My father saw this, and understood 
that the teacher had revealed that he was the 
author of the article ; and in order to escape being 
thanked, he hastily retreated, saying to me : — 

‘^^You may stay, Enrico^ I will wait for you 
outside.” 

After exchanging a few words with his father, 
the little clown went through still another trick; 
erect upon a galloping horse, he appeared in four 
characters — as a pilgrim, a sailor, a soldier, and 
an acrobat ; and every time that he passed near me, 
he looked at me. When he dismounted, he be- 
gan to make the tour of the circus, with his 
clown’s cap in his hand, and everybody threw soldi 
or sugar-plums into it. I had two soldi ready; 
but when he got in front of me, instead of offering 
his cap, he drew it back, gave me a look and passed 
on. I was ill at ease. Why had he offered me 
that slight? 

The performance came to an end; the proprietor 
thanked the audience ; and all the people rose also, 
and thronged to the doors. I was confused by the 
crowd, and was on the point of going out, when I 


THE LAST DAY OF THE CARNIVAL. 159 

felt a touch on my hand. I turned round. It 
was the little clown, with his tiny, brown face and 
his black curls, who was smiling at me. He had 
his hands full of sugar-plums. Then I under- 
stood. 

Will you accept these sugar-plums from the 
little clown? he said, in his dialect. 

I nodded, and took three or four. 

Then,^^ he added, “ please accept a kiss also.” 

Give me two,” I answered ; and held up my 
face to him. He rubbed off his floury face with 
his hand, put his arm round my neck, and planted 
two kisses on my cheek, saying : — 

There ! take one of them to your father.” 


THE LAST DAY OF THE CAEYIVAL. 

Tuesday, 21st. 

What a sad scene was that we witnessed to-day 
at the procession of the masks! It ended well; 
but it might have resulted in a great misfortune. 

In the San Carlo Square, all decorated with red, 
white, and yellow festoons, a vast multitude had 
assembled; masks of every hue were flitting 
about; cars, gilded and adorned, in the shape of 
pavilions; little theatres, barks filled with clowns, 
warriors, cooks, sailors, and shepherdesses. There 
was such a confusion that one knew not where to 
look; a tremendous clash of trumpets, horns, and 
cymbals tore the ears; and the masks on the 
chariots drank and sang, as they addressed the 


160 


FEBRUARY. 


people in the streets and at the windows, who re- 
torted at the top of their lungs, and hurled oranges 
and sugar-plums at each other vigorously. iVhove 
the chariots and the throng, as far as the eye could 
reach, one could see banners fluttering, helmets 
gleaming, plumes waving, gigantic pasteboard 
heads moving, huge head-dresses, enormous 
trumpets, fantastic arms, little drums, castanets, 
red caps, and bottles; — all the world seemed to 
have gone mad. 

When our carriage entered the square, a mag- 
nificent chariot was driving in front of us, drawn 
by four horses covered with trappings embroidered 
in gold, and wreathed in artificial roses, upon 
which there were fourteen or fifteen gentlemen 
masquerading as noblemen at the court of France, 
each aglitter with silk, with a huge, white wig, a 
plumed hat, a small-sword under the arm, and a 
tuft of ribbons and laces on the breast. They were 
very gorgeous. They were singing a French song 
and throwing sweet-meats to the people, and the 
latter clapped their hands and shouted. 

Suddenly, on our left, we saw a man lift a child 
of five or six above the heads of the crowd, — a 
poor, little creature, who wept piteously, and flung 
her arms about as though in a fit. The man made 
his way to the gentlemen’s chariot; one of the 
latter bent down, and the other said aloud : — 
Take this child; she has lost her mother in 
the crowd; hold her in your arms; the mother 
may not be far oft, and she will catch sight of her : 
there is no other way.” 

The gentleman took the child in his arms: all 


THE LAST DAY OF THE CARNIVAL. 161 


the rest stopped singing. The child screamed and 
struggled. The gentleman removed his mask. 
The chariot continued to move slowly. Mean- 
while, as we were afterwards told, at the opposite 
side of the square a poor woman, half crazed with 
despair, was forcing her way through the crowd, 
hy main force, elbowing, and shrieking : — 

Maria ! Maria ! Maria ! I have lost my little 
daughter! She has been stolen from me! They 
have suffocated my child ! And for a quarter of 
an hour she raved in this manner, straying now a 
little way in this direction, and then a little way 
in that, crushed hy the throng through which she 
strove to force her way. 

All this time, the gentleman on the car was 
holding the child pressed against the ribbons and 
laces on his breast, looking over the square, and 
trying to calm the poor creature, who covered her 
face with her hands, not knowing where she was, 
and sobbed as though her heart would break. The 
gentleman was touched: it was evident that these 
screams went to his soul. All the others offered 
the child oranges and sugar-plums; hut she re- 
fused them all, growing constantly more con- 
vulsive and frightened. 

“ Find her mother ! shouted the gentleman to 
. the crowd ; “ seek her mother ! 

And every one turned to the right and the left ; 
hut the mother was not to be found. Finally, a 
few paces from the place where the Via Roma 
enters the square, a woman was seen to rush to- 
wards the chariot. Ah, I shall never forget that! 
She no longer seemed a human creature : her hair 


162 


FEBRUARY. 


was streaming, her face distorted, her garments 
torn. She hurled herself forward with a rattle in 
her throat, — no one knew whether to attribute it 
to joy, anguish, or rage, — and darted out her 
hands like two claws to snatch her child. The 
chariot stopped. 

Here she is,’^ said the gentleman, reaching out 
the child after kissing it ; and he placed her in her 
mother’s arms, who pressed her to her breast in a 
transport of feeling. But one of the tiny hands 
rested a second longer in the hands of the gentle- 
man; and the latter, pulling off of his right hand 
a gold ring set with a large diamond, and slipping 
it with a rapid movement upon the finger of the 
little girl, said : — 

Take this ! it shall be your marriage dowry.” 

The mother stood rooted to the spot, as though 
enchanted. The crowd broke into applause. The 
gentleman put on his mask again, his companions 
resumed their song, and the chariot started on 
again slowly, amid a tempest of hand-clapping 
and hurrahs. 


THE BLIND BOYS. 

Thursday, 24th. 

The teacher is very ill, and they have sent in 
his stead the master of the fourth grade, who has 
been a teacher in the Institute for the Blind. He 
is the oldest of all the instructors, with hair so 
white that it looks like a wig made of cotton; and 
he speaks in a peculiar manner, as though he were 


THE BLIND BOYS. 


163 


chanting a mournful song. But he does it well, 
ana he knows a great deal. No sooner had he 
entered the schoolroom than, catching sight of a 
boy with a bandage on his eye, he approached the 
bench, and asked him what was the matter. 

Take care of your eyes, my boy,” he said to 
him. And then Derossi asked him : — 

Is it true, sir, that you have been a teacher of 
the blind?” 

Yes, for several years,” he replied. And De- 
rossi said, in a low tone, — 

Tell us something about it.” 

The teacher went and seated himself at his table. 

Coretti said aloud, “ The Institute for the Blind 
is in the Via Nizza.” 

You say blind — blind,” said the teacher, as 
you would say poor or ill, or I know not what. 
But do you fully realize the meaning of that word? 
Reflect a little. Blind! Never to see anything! 
Not to be able to distinguish day from night; to 
see neither the sky, nor the sun, nor your parents, 
nor anything of what is around you, and which 
you touch; to be sunk in endless darkness, as 
though buried in the bowels of the earth! Make 
a little effort to close your eyes, and to think of 
being obliged to remain forever thus; you will 
suddenly be overwhelmed by a mental agony, by 
terror; it will seem to you impossible to resist, 
that you must burst into a scream, that you must 
go mad or die. 

But, poor boys ! when you enter the Institute 
for the Blind for the first time, during their recre- 
ation hour, and hear them playing on violins and 


164 


FEBRUARY. 


flutes, and talking loudly and laughing, running 
up and down the stairs at a rapid pace, and wan- 
dering freely through the halls and dormitories, 
you would never think them to be the unfortu- 
nates that they are. One must observe them 
closely. There are lads of sixteen or eighteen, ro- 
bust and cheerful, who hear their blindness with a 
certain ease, almost with hardihood; hut you un- 
derstand from a certain proud, resentful expres- 
sion of countenance that they must have suffered 
tremenduously before they became resigned to this 
misfortune. 

There are others, with sweet and pallid faces, 
on which a profound resignation is visible; but 
they are sad, and one understands that they must 
still weep at times in secret. Ah, my sons ! reflect 
that some of them have lost their sight in a few 
days; some after years of martyrdom and after ter- 
rible surgical operations ; and that many were born 
so, — born into a night that has no dawn for them, 
— that they entered into the world as into an 
immense tomb, and that they do not know what 
the human face is like. Picture to yourself how 
they must have suffered, and how they must still 
suffer, when they think thus confusedly of the 
vast difference between themselves and those who 
see, and ask themselves, ^ Why this difference, if 
we are not to blame? ’ 

I who have spent many years among them, 
when I recall that class, all those eyes forever 
sealed, all those pupils without sight and without 
life, and then look at the rest of you, — I cannot 
find it possible that you should not all be happy. 


THE BLIND BOYS. 


165 


Think of it! there are about twenty-six thousand 
blind persons in Italy 1 Twenty-six thousand per- 
sons who do not see the light. Do you under- 
stand? An army which would take four hours 
to march past our windows.’^ 

The teacher paused. Not a breath was heard in 
all the school. Derossi asked if it were true that 
the blind have a finer sense of feeling than the 
rest of us. 

It is true/^ the teacher answered. ^^All the 
other senses are finer in them, because, since they 
must replace, among them, that of sight, they are 
more and better exercised than they are in the 
case of those who see. In the morning, in the 
dormitory, one asks another, ^ Is the sun shining? ^ 
and the one who is the most alert in dressing runs 
into the yard, and waves his hands in the air, to 
find out whether there is any warmth of the sun 
perceptible. Then he comes to tell the good news, 
^ The sun is shining ! ’ From the voice of a per- 
son they obtain an idea of his height. We judge 
of a man’s soul by his eyes; they, by his yoice. 
They remember intonations and accents for years. 
They know if there is more than one person in a 
room, even if only one speaks, and the rest remain 
motionless. They know by their touch whether a 
spoon is more or less polished. Little girls dis- 
tinguish dyed wool from that which is of the 
natural color. As they walk two and two along 
the streets, they recognize nearly all the shops by 
their odors, even those in which we perceive no 
odor. They spin top, and by listening to its 
humming they go straight to it and pick it up 


166 


FEBRUARY. 


without any mistake. They trundle hoop, play at 
ninepins, jump the rope, build little houses of 
stones, pick violets as though they saw them, 
make mats and baskets, weaving together straw of 
various colors rapidly and well — to such a degree 
is their sense of touch skilled. The sense of touch 
is their sight. One of their greatest pleasures is 
to handle, to grasp, to guess the forms of things 
by feeling them. It is affecting to see them when 
they are taken to the Industrial Museum, where 
they are allowed to handle whatever they please, 
and to observe with what eagerness they fling them- 
selves on geometrical bodies, on little models of 
houses, on instruments; with what joy they feel 
over and rub and turn everything about in their 
hands, in order to see how it i'S made. They call 
this seeing! 

Garoffi interrupted the teacher to inquire if it 
were true that blind boys learn to reckon better 
than others. 

The master replied : “ It is true. They learn 

to reckon and to write. They have books made 
on purpose for them, with raised characters; they 
pass their fingers over these, recognize the letters 
and pronounce the words. They read rapidly; 
and you should see them blush, poor little things, 
when they make a mistake. And they write, too, 
without ink. They write on a thick, hard sort of 
paper with a metal bodkin, which makes a great 
many little hollows, grouped according to a special 
alphabet. These little punctures stand out in re- 
lief on the other side of the paper, so that, by 
turning the paper over and drawing their fingers 


THE BLIND BOYS. 


167 


across these projections, they can read what they 
have written, and also the writing of others; and 
thus they write compositions: and they write let- 
ters to each other. They write numbers in the 
same way, and they make calculations; and they 
calculate mentally with an incredible ease, since 
their minds are not diverted by the sight of sur- 
rounding objects, as ours are. And you should 
see how passionately fond they are of reading, how 
attentive they are, how well they remember every- 
thing, how they talk among themselves, even the 
little ones, of things connected with history and 
language, as they sit four or five on the same 
bench, without turning to each other, and con- 
verse, the first with the third, the second with the 
fourth, in a loud voice and all together, without 
losing a single word, so acute and prompt is their 
hearing. 

^^And they attach more importance to the ex- 
aminations than you do, I assure you, and they 
are fonder of their teachers. They recognize their 
teacher by his step and his odor; they perceive 
whether he is in a good or bad humor, whether he 
is well or ill, simply by the sound of a single word 
of his. They want the teacher to touch them 
when he encourages and praises them, and they 
feel of his hand and his arms in order to express 
their gratitude. They love each other, ancl are 
good comrades to each other. In play time they 
are always together, according to their habit. In 
the girls^ school, for instance, they form into 
groups according to the instrument on which they 
play, — violinists, pianists, and flute-players, — and 


168 


FEBRUARY. 


they never separate. When they have become at- 
tached to any one, it is difficult for them to break 
it off. They take much comfort in friendship. 
They judge correctly among themselves. They 
have a clear and profound idea of good and evil. 
jSIo one grows so enthusiastic as they over the 
story of a kind action, of a grand deed.^^ 

Votini inquired if they played well. 

They are ardently fond of music,^^ replied the 
teacher. “ It is their delight. Music is their life. 
•Little blind children, when they first enter the 
Institute, are capable of standing three hours per- 
fectly motionless, to listen to playing. They learn 
easily; they play with fire. When the teacher tells 
one of them that he has no talent for music, he 
feels very sorrowful, but he sets to studying des- 
perately. Ah! if you could hear the music there, 
if you could see them when they are playing, with 
their heads thrown back, a smile on their lips, their 
faces aflame, trembling with emotion, in ecstasies 
at listening to that harmony which replies to them 
in the obscurity which envelops them, you would 
feel what a divine consolation is music ! And they 
shout for joy, they beam with happiness when a 
teacher says to them, ^ You Avill become an artist.^ 
The one who is first in music, who succeeds the 
best on the violin or piano, is like a king to them ; 
they love, they venerate him. If a quarrel arises 
between two of them, they go to him; if two 
friends fall out, it is he who reconciles them. The 
smallest pupils, whom he teaches to play, regard 
him as a father. Then all go to bid him good 
night before retiring to bed. And they talk con- 



THE BLIND BOYS 







THE BLIND BOYS. 


169 


stantly of music. They are finally in bed, late at 
night, wearied by study and work, and half asleep, 
and still they are discussing, in a low tone, operas, 
masters, instruments, and orchestras. It is so 
great a punishment for them to be deprived of the 
reading, or lesson in music, it causes them such 
sorrow that one hardly ever has the courage to 
punish them in that way. What light is to our 
eyes, music is to their hearts.” 

Derossi asked if we could go to see them. 

“ Yes,” replied the teacher; but you must not 
go there now. You shall go later on, when you are 
in a condition to appreciate the whole extent of 
'this misfortune, and to feel all the compassion 
which it merits. It is a sad sight, my boys. You 
will sometimes see there boys seated in front of an 
open window, enjoying the fresh air, with immov- 
able countenances, which seem to be gazing at the 
wide green expanse and the beautiful blue moun- 
tains your own eyes can see. But when you re- 
member that the}^ see nothing — that they will 
never see anything — of that vast loveliness, your 
soul is oppressed, as though you had yourselves 
become blind at that moment. 

^“^And then there are those who were bom blind, 
who, as they have never seen the world, do not 
complain, because they do not possess the image 
of anything, and who, therefore, arouse less sym- 
pathy. But there are lads who have been blind 
but a few months, who still recall everything, who 
fully understand all that they have lost. And 
these have, in addition, the grief of feeling their 
minds obscured, the dearest images grow a little 


170 


FEBRUARY. 


more dim in their minds day by day, of feeling the 
persons whom they have loved the most die out 
of their memories. One of these boys said to me 
one day, with inexpressible sadness, ^ I should like 
to have my sight again, only for a moment, in 
order to see mammals face once more, for I no 
longer remember it ! ^ And when their mothers 
come to see them, the hoys place their hands on 
their faces; they feel from brow to chin, and to 
ears, to see how they are made. They can hardly 
persuade themselves that they cannot see her, and 
they call her by name many times, to beseech her 
that she will allow them, that she will make them 
see her just once. 

How many, even hard-hearted men, go away 
in tears! And when you do go out, your case 
seems to you to be the exception, and the power to 
see people, houses, and the sky a hardly deserved 
privilege ! Oh ! there is not one of you, I am sure, 
who, on leaving, would not feel disposed to de- 
prive himself of a portion of his own sight, in 
order to bestow a gleam at least upon all those 
poor children, for whom the sun has no light, for 
whom a mother has no face ! ” 


THE SICK TEACHEE. 

. Saturday, 25th. 

Yesterday afternoon, on coming out of school, 
I went to pay a visit to my sick teacher. He made 
himself ill by overworking. Five hours of teach- 


THE SICK TEACHER. 


171 


ing a day, then an hour of gymnastics, then two 
hours more of evening school, which is saying — 
little sleep, getting his food by snatches, and work- 
ing breathlessly from morning till night. He has 
ruined his health. That is what my mother says. 
My mother was waiting for me at the big door. I 
came out alone, and on the stairs I met the teacher 
with the black beard — Coatti, — the one who 
frightens every one and punishes no one. He 
stared at me with wide-open eyes, and made his 
voice like that of a lion, in jest, but without laugh- 
ing. I was still laughing when I pulled the bell 
on the fourth floor; but I ceased very suddenly 
when the servant let me into a wretched, half- 
lighted room, where my teacher was lying. He 
was in a little iron bed. His beard was long. He 
put one hand to his brow in order to see better, 
and exclaimed in his affectionate voice : — 

Oh, Enrico!” 

I came to the bed. He laid one hand on my 
shoulder and said : — 

Good, my boy. You have done well to come 
and see your poor teacher. I am reduced to a sad 
state, as you see, my dear Enrico. And how fares 
the school? How are your comrades getting along? 
All well, eh? Even without me? You do very 
well without your old master, do you not? ” 

I was on the point of saying “ no,” but he inter- 
rupted me. 

Come, come, I know that you do not hate 
me ! ” and he heaved a sigh. 

I glanced at some photographs fastened to the 
wall. 


172 


FEBRUARY. 


‘‘Do you see?^^ lie said to me. “All of them 
are of boys who gave me their photographs more 
than twenty years ago. They were good boys. 
These are my souvenirs. When I die, my last 
glance will be at them; at those roguish urchins 
among whom my life has been passed. You will 
give me your portrait, also, will you not, when 
you have finished the elementary course? ’’ Then 
he took an orange from his night-stand, and put 
it in my hand. 

“ I have nothing else to give you,^^ he said ; “ it 
is the gift of a sick man.” 

I looked at it, and my heart was heavy. 

“ Listen to me,” he began again. “ I hope to 
get over this; but if I should not recover, see that 
you strengthen yourself in arithmetic, which is 
your weak point. Make an effort. It is merely a 
question of a first effort : because sometimes there 
is no lack of aptitude; there is merely an absence 
of a fixed purpose — of stability, as it is called.” 

But in the meantime he was breathing hard; 
and it was evident that he was suffering. 

“ I am feverish,” he sighed ; “ I am half gone ; 
I beg of you, therefore, to apply yourself to arith- 
metic, to problems. If you don’t succeed at first, 
rest a little and begin afresh. And press forward, 
but quietly, without fagging yourself, without 
straining your mind. Go! My respects to your 
mamma. And do not mount these stairs again. 
We shall see each other again in school. And if 
we do not, you must now and then call to mind 
your master of the third grade, who was fond of 
you.” 

I felt like weeping at these words. 


THE STREET. 


173 


Bend down your head/’ he said. 

1 bent my head to his pillow; he kissed my 
hair. Then he said to me, Go! ” and turned his 
face to the wall. 

I flew down the stairs; for I longed to embrace 
my mother. 


THE STKEET. 


Saturday, 25th. 

1 was watching you from the window this after- 
noon, when you were on your way home from the 
master’s; you ran against a wo-man. Take more 
heed to your manner of walking in the street. There 
are duties to be fuliilled even there. If you keep your 
steps and gestures within bounds in a private house, 
why should you not do the same in the street, which 
is everybody’s house. Remember this, Enrico. Every 
time that you meet a feeble old man, a poor person, 
a woman with a child in her arms, a cripple with his 
crutches, a man bending beneath a burden, a family 
dressed in mourning, make way for them respect- 
fully. We must respect age, misery, maternal love, 
infirmity, labor, death. Whenever you see a person 
on the point of being run down by a vehicle, drag 
him away, if it is a child; warn him, if he is a man; 
always ask what ails the child who is crying all 
alone; pick up the aged man’s cane, when he lets it 
fall. If two boys are fighting, separate them; if it 
is two men, go away: do not look on a scene of 
brutal violence, which offends and hardens the heart. 
And when a man passes, bound, and walicing be- 
tween a couple of policemen, do not add your curi- 


174 


FEBRUARY. 


osity to the cruel curiosity of the crowd; he may be 
innocent. 

Cease to talk with your companion, and to smile, 
when you meet a hospital litter, which is, perhaps, 
bearing a dying person, or a funeral procession; for 
one may issue from your own home on the morrow. 
Look with reverence upon all boys from the asylums, 
who walk two and two, — the blind, the dumb, those 
afflicted with the rickets, orphans, abandoned chil- 
dren; reflect that it is misfortune and human charity 
which is passing by. Always pretend not to notice 
any one who has a repulsive or laughter-provoking 
deformity. Always extinguish every match that you 
And in your path; for it may cost some one his life. 
Always answer courteously a passer-by wdio asks 
you the way. Do not look at any one and laugh; do 
not run without necessity; do not shout. 

Respect the street. The education of a people is 
judged first of all by their behavior on the street. 
Where you find offences in the streets, you will find 
offences in the houses. And study the streets; study 
tlie city in which you live. If you were to be hurled 
far away from it to-morrow, you would be glad to 
have it clearly present in your memory, to be able to 
traverse it all again in memory. It is your own 
city, and your little country — that which has been 
for so many years your world; where you took your 
first stei)s at your mother’s side; where you experi- 
enced your first emotions, opened your’ mind to its 
first ideas, found your first friends. It has been a 
mother to you; it has taught you, loved you, pro- 
tected you. Study it in its streets and in its people, 
and love it; and when you hear it insulted, defend it. 

Your Father. 


THE EVENING SCHOOL. 


175 


MARCH. 


THE EVENIISTG SCHOOL. 

Thursday, 2d. 

Last night my father took me to see the evening 
school in our Baretti schoolhouse, which was all 
lighted up, and where the workingmen were al- 
ready beginning to enter. On our arrival we found 
the imincipal and the teachers very indignant, be- 
cause a little while before the glass in one window 
had been broken by a stone. The beadle had 
darted forth and seized a boy, who was passing; 
but thereupon, Stardi, who lives in the house op- 
posite, had come forward, and said : — 

This is not the right one ; I saw it with my 
own eyes ; it was Franti who threw it ; and he said 
to me, ^ You’ll catch it if you tell! ’ but I am not 
afraid.” 

The principal declared that Franti should be 
expelled for good. 

In the meantime I was watching the working- 
men enter by twos and threes; and more than two 
hundred had already entered. I have never seen 
anything so fine as the evening school. There 
were boys of twelve and upwards; bearded men 
who were on their way from their work, carrying 
their books and copy-books; carpenters, engineers 


176 


MARCH. 


with black faces, masons with hands white with 
plaster, bakers’ hoys with their hair full of flour. 
And one could smell varnish, hides, flsh, oil, — 
odors of all the various trades. There also entered 
a squad of artillery workmen, dressed like soldiers 
and headed by a corporal. They all filed briskly 
to their benches, removed the board underneath, 
on which we put our feet, and immediately bent 
their heads over their work. 

Some stepped up to the teachers to ask explana- 
tions, with their open copy-books in their hands. 
I caught sight of the young and well-dressed 
master, the little lawyer,” who had three or four 
workingmen clustered around the table, and who 
was making corrections with his pen; and also the 
lame one, who was laughing with a dyer who had 
brought him a copy-book ail adorned with red and 
blue dyes. My teacher, who had recovered, and 
who will return to school to-morrow, was there 
also. The doors of the schoolroom were open. I 
was amazed, when the lessons began, to see how 
attentive they all were, and how they kept their 
eyes fixed on their work. Yet the greater part of 
them, so the principal said, for fear of being late, 
had not even been home to eat a mouthful of 
supper, and they were hungry. 

But the younger ones, after half an hour of 
school, were falling off the benches with sleep; 
some even went fast asleep with their heads on 
the bench, and the teacher wakened them by 
tickling their ears with a pen. But the grown-up 
men did nothing of the sort; they kept awake, 
and listened, with their mouths wide open, and 


THE EVENING SCHOOL. 


177 


without even winking. It seemed strange to me 
to see all those bearded men on our benches. 

We also went up to the floor above, and I ran 
to the door of my schoolroom where I saw in my 
seat a man with a big moustache and a bandaged 
hand, who might have injured himself while at 
work about some machine; but he was trying to 
write, though very, very slowly. 

What pleased me most was to behold in the seat 
of the “ little mason,^^ on the very same bench and 
in the very same corner, his father, the mason, as 
huge as a giant, who sat there all coiled up into a 
narrow space, with his chin on his flsts and his 
eyes on his book, so absorbed that he hardly 
breathed. And there was no chance about it, for it 
was he himself who said to the principal the first 
evening he came to the school : — 

“ Signor Director, do me the favor to place me 
in the seat of my ^ hare’s face.’ ” For he always 
calls his son so. 

My father kept me there until the end, and in 
the street we saw many women with children in 
their arms, waiting for their husbands. At the 
entrance a change was effected : the husbands took 
the children in their arms, and the women took 
their books and copy-books; and in this wise they 
proceeded to their homes. For several minutes 
the street was filled with people and with noise. 
Then it grew silent, and all we could see was the 
tall, weary form of the principal going away. 


178 


MARCH. 


THE FIGHT. 


Sunday, 5th. 

It was what might have been expected. Franti, 
on being expelled by the principal, wanted to re- 
venge himself on Stardi, and after school he waited 
for Stardi at a corner, when he was passing with 
his sister, whom he escorts every day from an in- 
stitute in the Dora Grossa street. 

My sister Silvia, on leaving her schoolhouse, 
saw the whole affair, and came home thoroughly 
terrified. This is what took place. Franti, with 
his cap of waxed cloth tilted over one ear, ran up 
on tiptoe behind Stardi, and, in order to provoke 
him, gave a tug at his sister’s braid of hair, — a 
tug so violent that it almost threw her on the 
ground. The little girl uttered a cry ; her brother 
whirled round. Franti, who is much taller and 
stronger than Stardi, thought : — 

“ He’ll not utter a word, or I’ll break his skin 
for him ! ” 

But Stardi never stopped to think. Small and 
ill-made as he is, he flung himself with one bound 
on that big fellow, and began to beat him with 
his fists. He could not hold his own, however, 
and he got more than he gave. There was no one 
in the street but girls, so there was no one who 
could separate them. Franti flung him on the 
ground; but the other instantly got up, and then 
down he went on his back again, and Franti 
pounded away as though upon a door. In an in- 


THE FIGHT. 


179 


stant he had torn away half an ear, and bruised 
one eye, and drawn blood from Stardi’s nose. But 
Stardi was gritty ; he roared : — 

You may kill me, but Til make you pay for 


Down went Franti again, kicking and cuffing, 
and Stardi under him, butting and lunging out 
with his heels. A woman cried from a window. 
Good for the little one ! Others said, It is a 
boy defending his sister; courage! give it to him 
well! And they screamed at Franti, You bully! 
you coward ! But Franti had grown savage ; he 
held out his leg; Stardi tripped and fell, with 
Franti on top of him. 

Surrender ! ^^ — No ! ^^ — Surrender ! ” — 
No!” 

In a flash Stardi was on his feet. He clasped 
Franti by the body, and, with one furious effort, 
hurled him to the pavement, and fell upon him 
with one knee on his breast. 

“Ah, the villain ! he has a knife ! ” shouted a 
man, rushing up to disarm Franti. 

But Stardi, beside himself with rage, had al- 
ready grasped Franti’s arm with both hands, and 
bitten the fist so fiercely that the knife fell from 
it, and the hand began to bleed. More people had 
run up in the meantime, separated them and set 
them on their feet. Franti took to his heels in a 
sorry plight, while Stardi stood still, with his face 
all scratched, and with a black eye, — but tri- 
umphant, — beside his weeping sister, while some 
of the girls collected the books and copy-books 
which were strewn over the street. 


180 


MARCH. 


“ Bravo, little fellow ! said the bystanders ; 
he defended his sister ! 

But Stardi, who was thinking more of his satchel 
than of his victor}^, instantly set to examining the 
books and copy-books, one by one, to see whether 
anything was missing or injured. He rubbed them 
off with his sleeve, looked over his pen, put every- 
thing hack in its place, and then, quiet and serious 
as usual, he said to his sister, Let us go home 
quickly, for I have a hard lesson before me.^’ 


THE BOYS’ PAKEHTS. 

Monday, 6th. 

This morning big Stardi, the father, came to 
wait for his son, fearing lest he should again meet 
Eranti. But they say that Eranti will not be seen 
again, because he will he put in the reform school. 

There were a great many parents there this 
morning. Among the rest there was the retail 
wood-dealer, the father of Coretti, the perfect im- 
age of his son, slender, brisk, with his moustache 
brought to a point, and a ribbon of two colors in 
the button-hole of his jacket. I know nearly all 
the parents of the boys, through constantly seeing 
them there. There is one crooked grandmother, 
with her white cap, who comes four times a day, 
whether it rains or snows or storms, to bring and 
to get her little grandson of the upper primary; 
and she takes off his little cloak and puts it on for 
him, straightens his necktie, brushes off the dust. 


THE BOYS’ PARENTS. 


181 


and takes care of the copy-books. It is evident 
that she has no other thought, that she sees noth- 
ing in the world more beautiful. The captain of 
artillery also comes frequently, the father of 
Robetti, the lad with ^he crutches, who saved a 
child from the omnibus*. And as all his soAs com- 
panions salute him in passing, he returns a salute 
to every one, and he never forgets any ; he 
bends over all, and the poorer and more badly 
dressed they are, the more j^eased he seems to he, 
and he thanks them. 

At times, however, sad sights are to he seen. 
A gentleman who had not come for a month be- 
cause one of his sons had died, and who had sent 
a maid-servant for the other, on coming yesterday 
and seeing the class, the comrades of his little dead 
boy, retired into a corner and hurst into sobs, with 
both hands before his face. The principal took 
him by the arm and led him to his office. 

There are fathers and mothers who know all 
their sons’ companions by name. There are girls 
from the neighboring schoolhouse, and scholars in 
the gymnasium, who come to wait for their 
brothers. There is one old gentleman who was a 
colonel formerly, and who, when a hoy drops a 
copy-book or a pen, picks it up for him. There are 
also to be seen well-dressed ladies, who discuss 
school matters with others who have kerchiefs on 
their heads, and baskets on their arms, and who 
say: — 

Oh ! the problem has been a difficult one this 
time.” — “ That grammar lesson will never come to 
an end ! ” 


182 


MARCH. 


And when there is a sick boy in the class, they 
all know it; when he is better, they all rejoice. 
This morning there were eight or ten ladies, gen- 
tlemen and workingmen standing around Cros- 
ses mother, the vegetable-y^ndor, making inqui- 
ries about a poor baby in my brother's class, who 
lives in her court, and who is in danger of his life. 
The school seenls to make them all equals and 
friends. , 


NUMBER 78. 


Wednesday, 8th. 

I saw a touching scene yesterday afternoon. 
For several days, every time that the vegetable- 
vendor has passed Derossi she has gazed and gazed 
at him with an expression of great affection; for 
Derossi, since he made the discovery about that 
inkstand and prisoner Number 78, has acquired 
a love for her son, Crossi, the red-haired boy with 
the useless arm. Derossi helps him to do his 
work in school, suggests answers to him, gives him 
paper, pens, and pencils; in short, he behaves to 
him like a brother, as though to compensate him 
for his father’s misfortune, which has affected 
him, although he does not know it. 

The vegetable-vendor had been watching De- 
rossi for several days, and she seemed loath to 
take her eyes from him, for she is a good woman 
who lives only for her son; and Derossi, who as- 
sists him and makes him appear well, Derossi, 


NUMBER 78. 


183 


who is a gentleman and the head of the school, 
seems to her a king, a saint. She continued to 
stare at him, and seemed desirous of saying some- 
thing to him, yet was ashamed to do it. But at 
last, yesterday morning, she took courage, stopped 
him in front of a gate, and said to him : — 

“ I beg a thousand pardons, little master! Will 
you, who are so kind to my son, and so fond of 
him, do me the favor to, accept this little me- 
mento from a poor mother? and she pulled out 
of her vegetable-basket a little pasteboard box of 
white and gold. 

Derossi flushed up all over, and refused, saying 
with decision : Give it to your son ; I will ac- 

cept nothing.” 

The woman was mortifled, and stammered an 
excuse : I had no idea of offending you. It is 

only caramels.” 

But Derossi said ‘^no,” again, and shook his 
head. 

Then she timidly lifted from her basket a 
bunch of radishes, and said: “Accept these at 
least, — they are fresh, — and carry them to your 
mamma.” 

Derossi smiled, and said: — “No, thanks: I 
don’t want anything; I shall always do all that 
I can for Cr^ssi, but I cannot accept anything. 
I thank you all the same.” 

“But you are not at all offended?” asked the 
woman, anxiously. 

Derossi said “ No, no ! ” smiled, and went off, 
while she exclaimed, in great delight : — 

“ Oh, what a good boy ! I have never seen so 
fine and handsome a boy as he ! 


184 


MARCH. 


And that appeared to be the end of it. But in 
the afternoon, at four o’clock, instead of Crossi’s 
mother, his father came up, with that gaunt, sad 
face of his. He stopped Derossi, and from the 
way in which he looked at the latter I instantly 
understood that he suspected Derossi of knowing 
his secret. He looked at him intently, and said 
in his tender, touching voice : — 

You are fond of my son. Why do you like 
him so much ? ” 

Derossi’s face turned the color of fire. He 
would have liked to say : “ I am fond of him be- 
cause he has been unfortunate; because you, his 
father, have been more unfortunate than guilty, 
and have nobly expiated your crime, and are a 
man of heart.” 

But he had not the courage to say it, for at bot- 
tom he still felt fear and almost dread in the pres- 
ence of this man who had shed another’s blood, 
and had been six )^ears in prison. But the latter 
divined it all, and lowering his voice, he said in 
Derossi’s ear, almost trembling the while : — 

‘^You love the son; hut you do not hate, do 
not wholly despise the father, do you?” 

Ah, no, no ! Quite the reverse ! ” exclaimed 
Derossi, with a soulful impulse. The man made 
an impetuous movement, as though to throw one 
arm round his neck; but he dared not, and in- 
stead he took one of the lad’s golden curls between 
two of his fingers, stroked it and let it go; then 
he kissed his palm to him, gazing at Derossi with 
moist eyes, as though to say that this kiss was for 
him. After which he took his son by the hand, 
and went away at a rapid pace. 


A LITTLE DEAD BOY. 


185 


A LITTLE DEAD BOY. 

Monday, 13th. 

The little boy who lived in the vegetable-ven- 
dor’s court, the one who belonged to the upper 
primary, and was the companion of my brother, is 
dead. Schoolmistress Delcati came in great af- 
fliction, on Saturday afternoon, to inform the mas- 
ter of it; and instantly Oarrone and Coretti vol- 
unteered to carry the coffin. 

He was a fine little lad. He had won the medal 
last week. He was fond of my brother, and had 
given him a broken money-box. My mother al- 
ways petted him when she met him. He wore a 
cap with two stripes of red cloth. His father is 
a porter on the railway. 

Yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, at half-past four 
o’clock, we went to his house, to go with the 
funeral to the church. 

They live on the ground floor. Many boys of 
the upper primary, with their mothers, all hold- 
ing candles, were there. Five or six teachers and 
several neighbors were already collected in the 
courtyard. The mistress with the red feather and 
Mistress Delcati had gone inside, and through an 
open window we beheld them weeping. We could 
hear the mother of the child sobbing loudly. Two 
ladies, mothers of two school companions of the 
dead child, had brought garlands of flowers. 

Exactly at flve o’clock we set out. In front 
went a boy carrying a cross, then a priest, then 
the coffin, — a very, very small coffin, poor child ! 


186 


MARCH. 


— covered with a black cloth, and round it were 
wound the garlands brought by the two ladies. 
On the black cloth, on one side, were fastened the 
medal and honorable mentions which the little 
boy had won in the course of the year. Garrone, 
Coretti, and two boys from the courtyard bore the 
coffin. Behind the coffin first came Mistress 
Delcati, who wept as though the little dead boy 
were her own; behind her the other schoolmis- 
tresses; and l3ehind the mistresses, the boys, 
among whom were some very little ones, who 
carried bunches of violets in one hand, and who 
stared wonderingly at the bier, while their other 
hand was held by their mothers, who carried can- 
dles. I heard one of them say, And shall I not 
see him at school again? 

When the coffin came from the court, a de- 
spairing cry was heard from the window. It was 
the child’s mother; but they made her draw back 
into the room immediately. On arriving in the 
street, we met the boys from a college, who were 
passing in double file; and on catching sight of 
the coffin with the medal and the schoolmistresses, 
they all pulled off their hats. 

Poor little boy! he went to sleep forever with 
his medal. We shall never see his red cap again. 
He was in perfect health; in four days he was 
dead. On the last day he made an effort to rise 
and study his lesson, and he insisted on keeping 
his medal on his bed for fear it would be taken 
from him. Ho one will ever take it from you 
again, poor boy! Farewell, farewell! We shall 
always remember you at the Baretti School ! 
Sleep in peace, dear little boy! 


EYE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH. 187 


THE EYE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF 
. MARCH. 

To-day has been more cheerful than yesterday. 
The thirteenth of March! The eve of the distri- 
bution of prizes at the Theatre Vittorio Eman- 
uele, the greatest and most beautiful festival of 
the whole year I But this time the boys who are 
to go upon the stage and give the certificates of 
the prizes to the gentlemen who are to present 
them are not to be taken at haphazard. The 
principal came in this morning, at the close of 
school, and said : — 

Good news, boys ! ” Then he called, “ Co- 
raci 1 the Calabrian. The Calabrian rose. 

Would 5 ^ou like to be one of those to carry the 
certificates of the prizes to the authorities in the 
theatre to-morrow? The Calabrian answered 
that he should. 

That is well,” said the principal ; then there 
will also be a representative of Calabria there; 
and that will be a fine thing. The municipal 
council is desirous that this year the ten or twelve 
lads who hand the prizes should be from all parts 
of Italy, and selected from all the public school 
buildings. We have twenty buildings, with five 
annexes — seven thousand pupils. Among such 
a multitude there has been no difficulty in find- 
ing one boy for each region of Italy. Two rep- 
resentatives of the Islands were found in the Tor- 
quato Tasso schoolhouse, — a Sardinian, and a Si- 


188 


MARCH. 


cilian; the Boncompagni School furnished a little 
Florentine, the son of a wood-carver; there is a 
Roman, a native of Rome, in the Tommaseo build- 
ing; several Venetians, Lombards, and natives of 
Romagna have been found; the Monviso School 
gives us a Neapolitan, the son of an officer; we 
furnish a Genoese and a Calabrian, — you, Coraci. 
With the Piedmontese that will make twelve. Does 
not this strike you as nice? It will be your broth- 
ers from all quarters of Italy who will give you 
your prizes. Mind! the whole twelve will appear 
on the stage together. Receive them with hearty 
applause. They are only boys, but they represent 
the country just as though they were men. A 
small tricolored flag is the symbol of Italy as 
much as a huge banner, is it not? 

“ Applaud them warmly, then. Let it be seen 
that your little hearts are all aglow, that your 
souls of ten years grow enthusiastic in the pres- 
ence of the sacred image of your fatherland.’^ 

Having spoken thus, he went away, and the 
teacher said, with a smile, “ So, Coraci, you are 
to be the deputy from Calabria.” 

And then all clapped their hands and laughed; 
and when we got into the street, we surrounded 
Coraci, seized him by the legs, lifted him on high, 
and set out to carry him in triumph, shouting, 
“ Hurrah for the Deputy of Calabria ! ” by way 
of making a noise, of course; and not in jest, but 
quite the contrary, for the sake of making a cele- 
bration for him, and with a good will, for he is a 
boy who pleases every one; and he smiled. And 
thus we bore him as far as the corner, where we 


THE DISTRIBUTION OP PRIZES. 


189 


ran into a gentleman with a black beard, who be- 
gan to laugh. The Calabrian said, “ That is my 
father.^’ Then the hoys placed his son in his 
arms and ran away in all directions. 


THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. 

March 14th. 

Towards two o’clock the great theatre was 
crowded, — pit, gallery, boxes, stage, all were 
thronged; thousands of faces, — hoys, gentlemen, 
teachers, workingmen, women of the people, ba- 
bies. There was a moving of heads and hands, a 
flutter of feathers, ribbons, and curls, and a loud 
and merry murmur which inspired cheerfulness. 
The theatre was decorated with festoons of white, 
red, and green cloth. In the pit two little stair- 
ways had been erected: one on the right, which 
the winners of prizes were to ascend in order to 
reach the stage ; the other, on the left, which they 
were to descend after receiving their prizes. On 
the front of the platform was a row of red chairs ; 
and from the back of the one in the centre hung 
two laurel crowns. At the back of the stage was 
a trophy of flags; on one side stood a small green 
table, and upon it lay all the certificates of pre- 
miums, tied with tricolored ribbons. The band 
was stationed in the pit, under the stage; the 
schoolmasters and mistresses filled all one side 
of the first balcony, which had been reserved for 
them; the benches and passages of the pit were 
crammed with hundreds of boys, who were to 


190 


MARCH. 


sing, and who carried the music in their hands. 
At the hack and all about, masters and mistresses 
could he seen going to and fro, arranging the prize 
scholars in lines; and it was full of parents who 
were giving a last touch to their hair and the last 
pull to their neckties. 

No sooner had I gone in a box with my family 
than I perceived in the opposite box the young 
mistress with the red feather, who was smiling 
and showing all the pretty dimples in her cheeks; 
and with her my brother’s teacher and the little 
nun,” dressed wholly in black, and my kind mis- 
tress of the upper first; hut she was so pale, poor 
thing! and coughed so hard, that she could be 
heard all over the theatre. In the pit I instantly 
espied Garrone’s dear, big face and the little blonde 
head of Nelli, who was clinging close to the other’s 
shoulder. A little further on I saw Garofh, with 
his owl’s-beak nose, who was making great efforts 
to collect the printed catalogues of the prize- 
winners. He already had a large bundle of them 
which he could put to some use in his bartering 
— we shall find out what it is to-morrow. Near 
the door was the wood-seller with his wife, — 
both dressed in holiday attire, — together with 
their boy, who has a third prize in the second 
grade. 1 was amazed at no longer beholding the 
catskin cap and the chocolate-colored jerkin: on 
this occasion he was dressed like a little gentle- 
man. In one balcony I caught a momentary 
glimpse of Yotini, with a large lace collar; then 
he disappeared. In a proscenium box, filled with 
people, was the artillery captain, the father of 
Robetti, the boy with the crutches. 


THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. 


191 


On the stroke of two the band struck up, and 
at the same moment the mayor, the prefect, the 
judge, the assessor, and many other gentlemen, 
all dressed in black, mounted the stairs on the 
right, and seated themselves on the red chairs at 
the front of the platform. The band ceased play- 
ing. The director of singing in the schools ad- 
vanced with a baton in his hand. At a signal 
from him all the boys in the pit rose to their feet; 
at another sign they began to sing. There were 
seven hundred singing a very beautiful song, — 
seven hundred boys^ voices singing together; how 
beautiful ! All listened motionless : it was a slow, 
sweet, limpid song which seemed like a church 
chant. When they ceased, every one applauded; 
then they all became very still. The distribution 
of the prizes was about to begin. 

My little master of the second grade, with his 
red head and his quick eyes, who was to read the 
names of the prize-winners, had already advanced 
to the front of the stage. The entrance of the 
twelve boys who were to present the certificates 
was what they were waiting for. The newspapers 
had already stated that there would be boys from 
all the provinces of Italy. Every one knew it, 
and was watching for them and gazing curiously 
towards the spot where they were to enter; and 
the mayor and the other gentlemen gazed also, 
and the whole theatre was silent. 

All at once the whole twelve arrived on the stage 
at a run, and remained standing there in line, with 
a smile. The whole theatre, three thousand per- 
sons, sprang up as one, breaking into applause 


192 


MARCH. 


which sounded like a clap of thunder. The hoys 
stood for a moment as though disconcerted. “ Be- 
hold Italy ! said a voice on the stage. I recog- 
nized Coraci, the Calabrian, dressed in black as 
usual. A gentleman belonging to the municipal 
council, who was with us and who knew them all, 
pointed them out to my mother. That little 
blonde is the representative of Venice. The Eo- 
man is that tall, curly-haired lad, yonder.’’ Two 
or three of them were dressed like gentlemen; the 
others were sons of workingmen, but all were 
neatly clad and clean. The Florentine, who was 
the smallest, had a blue scarf round his body. 

They all passed in front of the mayor, who 
kissed them, one after the other, on the brow, 
while a gentleman seated next to him smilingly 
told him the names of their cities : Florence, 

Naples, Bologna, Palermo.” And as each passed 
by, the whole theatre clapped. Then they all ran 
to the green table, to take the certificates. The 
master began to read the list, mentioning the 
schoolhouses, the classes, the names; and the 
prize-winners began to mount the stage and to 
file past. 

The foremost ones had hardly reached the stage, 
when behind the scenes was heard a very, 
very faint music of violins, which did not cease 
during the whole time that they were filing past 
— a soft and always even air, like the murmur of 
many subdued voices, the voices of all the moth- 
ers, and all the masters and mistresses, giving 
counsel in concert, and beseeching and adminis- 
tering loving reproofs. And meanwhile, the 


THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. 


193 


prize-winners passed one by one in front of the 
seated gentlemen, who handed them their certifi- 
cates, and said a word or bestowed a caress on each. 

The boys in the pit and the balconies applauded 
loudly every time there passed a very small lad, 
or one who seemed, from his garments, to be 
poor; and also for those who had abundant curly 
hair, or who were clad in red or white. Some of 
those who filed past belonged to the upper pri- 
mary, and, once arrived there, they became con- 
fused and did not know where to turn, and the 
whole theatre laughed. One passed, three hands 
high, with a big knot of pink ribbon on his back, 
so that he could hardly walk, and he got entan- 
gled in the carpet and tumbled down; the pre- 
fect set him on his feet again, and all laughed 
and clapped. Another rolled headlong down the 
stairs, when going back to the pit : cries arose, but 
he had not hurt himself. Boys of all sorts passed, 
— boys with roguish faces, with frightened faces, 
with faces as red as cherries; comical little fel- 
lows, who laughed in every one’s, face: and no 
sooner had they got back into the pit, than they 
were seized upon by their fathers and mothers, 
who carried them away. 

When our schoolhouse’s turn came, how inter- 
ested I was! Many whom I knew passed. Co- 
retti filed by, dressed in new clothes from head to 
foot, with his fine, merry smile, which displayed 
all his white teeth; but who knows how many 
loads of wood he had already carried that morn- 
ing! The mayor, on presenting him with his cer- 
tificate, inquired the meaning of a red mark on 


194 


MARCH. 


his forehead, and as he did so, laid one hand on 
his shoulder. I looked in the pit for his father 
and mother, and saw them laughing, while they 
covered their mouths with one hand. Then De- 
rossi passed, all dressed in bright blue, with shin- 
ing buttons, with all those golden curls, slender, 
easy, with his head held high, so handsome and 
tine, that I could have blown him a kiss; and all 
the gentlemen wanted to speak to him and to 
shake his hand. 

Then the master cried, Giulio Kobetti ! and 
we saw the captain^s son come forward on his 
crutches. Hundreds of boys knew the occur- 
rence; a word ran round in an instant; a salvo of 
applause broke forth, and of shouts, which made 
the theatre shake. Men sprang to their feet, 
ladies began to wave their handkerchiefs, and the 
poor boy halted in the middle of the stage, amazed 
and trembling. The mayor drew him to him, 
gave him his prize and a kiss, and removing the 
two laurel crowns which were hanging from the 
back of the chair, he strung them on the cross- 
bars of his crutches. Then he led him to the 
stage box, where his father, the captain, was 
seated; and the latter lifted him bodily and set 
him down inside, amid an indescribable tumult 
of bravos and hurrahs. 

Meanwhile, the soft and gentle music of the 
violins did not cease, and the boys continued to 
file by, — those from the Consolata School, nearly 
all the sons of petty merchants; those from the 
Vanchiglia School, the sons of workingmen; those 
from the Boncompagni School, many of whom 


THE QUARREL. 


195 


were the sons of peasants; those of the Eayneri, 
which was the last. As soon as it was over, the 
seven hundred boys in the pit sang another very 
beautiful song; then the mayor spoke, and after 
him the judge, who ended by saying to the boys: — 
Do not leave this place without greeting those 
who toil so hard for you; who have consecrated to 
you all the strength of their intelligence and of 
their hearts; w^ho live and die for you. There 
they are ; behold them ! And he pointed to the 
balcony of teachers. 

Then, from the balconies, from the , pit, from 
the boxes, the boys rose, and extended their arms 
towards the masters and mistresses, with a shout, 
and the latter responded by waving their hands, 
their hats, and handkerchiefs, as they all stood 
up, much moved. After this, the band played 
once more, and the audience sent a last noisy sa- 
lute to the twelve lads of all the provinces of 
Italy, who presented themselves at the front of 
the stage, all drawn up in line, with their hands 
joined, beneath a shower of flowers. 


THE QUARKEL. 


Monday, 26th. 

It was not out of envy, because he got the prize 
and I did not, that I quarrelled with Coretti this 
morning. No, it was not out of envy. Still I 
was in the wrong. The teacher had placed him 
beside me, and I was writing in my copy-book 
when he jogged my elbow and made me blot and 


196 


MARCH. 


soil the monthly story, Blood of Romagna^ which 
I was to copy for the “ little mason/^ who is ill. 
I got angry, and said a rude word to him. 

He replied, with a smile, I did not do it on 
purpose.^^ 

I should have believed him, because I know 
him; but it displeased me that he should smile, 
and I thought : Oh ! now that he has had a 

prize, he has grown saucy ! ’’ ; and a little while 
afterwards, to revenge myself, I gave him a jog 
which made him spoil his page. 

Then, all crimson with wrath, You did that 
on purpose,^^ he said to me, and raised his hand. 
The teacher saw it; he drew it back. But he 
added : I shall wait for you outside ! ” 

I felt ill at ease; my wrath had simmered away; 
I repented. Ho; Coretti could not have done it 
intentionally. He is good, I thought. I recalled 
how I had seen him in his own home; how he 
had worked and helped his sick mother ; and then 
how heartily he had been welcomed in my house; 
and how he had pleased my father. What would 
I not have given not to have said that word to 
him; not to have insulted him! And I thought 
of the advice that my father had given to me: 

Have you done wrong? “ Yes.^^ — Then beg 
his pardon.^’ But this I did not dare to do; I 
was ashamed to humiliate myself. I looked at 
him out of the corner of my eye, and I saw his 
coat ripped on the shoulder, — perhaps because 
he had carried too much wood, — and I felt that 
I loved him. I said to myself, Courage 1 ’’ But 
the words, “ pardon me,’’ stuck in my throat. 

He looked at me askance from time to time, 


THE QUARREL. 


197 


but seemed more grieved than angry. And I 
looked crossly at him, to show him that I was not 
afraid. 

He repeated, “ We shall meet outside ! ” And 
I said, “We shall meet outside!^’ But I was 
thinking of what my father had once said to me, 
“ If you are in the wrong, defend yourself, but 
do not fight.” 

And I said to myself, “ I will defend myself, 
but I will not fight.” But I was discontented, 
and I no longer listened to the master. 

At last the moment of dismissal arrived. When 
I was alone in the street I perceived that he was 
following me. I stopped and waited for him, 
ruler in hand. He came up; I raised my ruler. 

“ No, Enrico,” he said, with his kindly smile, 
waving the ruler aside with his hand ; “ let us be 
friends again, as before.” 

I stood still in amazement, and then I felt what 
seemed to be a push on my shoulders, and I found 
myself in his arms. 

He kissed me, and said: “ Wefil have no more 
quarrels, will we?” 

“Never again! never again!” I replied. And 
we parted content. But when I 'went home, and 
told my father all about it, thinking to give him 
pleasure, his face clouded over, and he said : — 

“ You should have been the first to offer your 
hand, since you were in the wrong.” Then he 
added, “ You should not raise your ruler at a 
comrade who is better than you are — at the son 
of a soldier ! ” ; and snatching the ruler from my 
hand, he broke it in two, and hurled it against 
the wall. 


198 


MARCH. 


MY SISTEE. 

Friday, 24th. 

Why, Enrico, after father had already reproved 
you for behaving badly to Coretti, were you so un- 
kind to me? You cannot imagine the pain that you 
caused me. Do you not know that when you were a 
baby, I stood for hours and hours beside your cradle, 
instead of playing with my companions, and that 
when you were ill, I got out of bed every night to 
feel whether your forehead was burning? Do you 
not know, you who grieve your sister, that if a dread- 
ful misfortune should overtake us, I should be a 
mother to you and love you like my sou? Do you 
not know that when our father and mother are no 
longer here, I shall be your best friend, the only per- 
son with whom you can talk about our dead and your 
childhood, and that, should it be necessary, I shall 
work for you, Enrico, to earn your bread and to pay 
for your studies, and that I shall always love you 
when you are grown up; that I shall follow you in 
thought when you go far away, always because we 
grew up together and have the same blood? O 
Enrico, be sure of this when you are a man, that if 
misfortune happens to you, if you are alone, be very 
sure that you will seek me, that you will come to me 
and say: “ Silvia, sister, let me stay with you; let 
us talk of the days when we were happy — do you 
remember? Let us talk of our mother, of our home, 
of those beautiful days that are so far away.” O 
Enrico, you will always find your siister with her 
arms wide open. Yes, dear Enrico; and you must 


BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. 


199 


forgive me for the reproof I am giving now. I shall 
never recall any wrong of yours; and if you should 
give me other sorrows, what matters it? You will 
always be my brother, the same brother; I shall 
never recall you otherwise than as having held you 
in my arms when a baby, of having loved our father 
and mother with you, of having watched you grow 
up, of having been for years your most faithful com- 
panion. But do you write me a kind word in this 
same copy-book, an(,l I will come for it and read it 
before the evening. In the meanwhile, to show you 
that I am not angry with you, and noting that you 
are weary, I have copied for you the monthly story. 
Blood of Romagna, which you were to have copied for 
the little sick mason. Look in the left drawer of 
your table; I have been writing all night, while you 
were asleep. Write me a kind word, Enrico, I beg 
of you. 

Your Sister Silvia. 

I am not worthy to kiss your hands.— E nrico. 


BLOOD OF KOMAGNA. 

{Monthly Story.) 

That evening the house of Ferruccio was more 
silent than was its wont. The father, who kept 
a little dry-goods shop, had gone to Forli to make 
some purchases, and his wife had accompanied 
him, with Luigina, a baby, whom she was taking 


200 


MARCH. 


to a doctor, that he might operate on a diseased 
eye; they were not to return until the follow- 
ing morning. It was almost midnight. The 
woman who came to do the work by day had gone 
away at nightfall. 

In the house there was only the grandmother 
with the paralyzed legs, and Ferruccio, a lad 
of thirteen. It was a small house of but one 
story, situated on the highway, at a gunshot’s dis- 
tance from a village not far from Forli, a town of 
Eomagna ; and there was near it only an uninhab- 
ited house, ruined two months previously by tire, 
and on which the sign of an inn was still to he 
seen. Behind the tiny house was a small garden 
surrounded by a hedge, upon which a rustic gate 
opened. The door of the shop, which also served 
as the house door, opened on the highway. All 
around spread the solitary country, — wide, cul- 
tivated fields, planted with mulberry-trees. 

It was nearly midnight. It was raining and 
blowing. Ferruccio and his grandmother were 
still up, sitting in the dining-room, between which 
and the garden was a small, closet-like room, with 
old furniture. Ferruccio had returned home only 
at eleven o’clock, after an absence of many hours, 
and his grandmother had watched for him with 
eyes wide open, tilled with anxiety. She sat in 
the large arm-chair, upon which she was accus- 
tomed to pass the entire day, and often the whole 
night as well, since a difficulty of breathing did 
not allow her to lie down in bed. 

The wind and rain heat against the window- 
panes: the night was very dark. Ferruccio had 


BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. 


201 


returned weary, muddy, with his jacket torn, and 
the livid mark of a stone on his forehead. He 
had engaged in a stone fight with his comrades; 
they had come to blows, as usual; and in addition 
he had gambled, and lost all his soldi, and left his 
cap in a ditch. 

Although the kitchen was lighted only by a 
small oil-lamp, placed on the corner of the table, 
near the arm-chair, his poor grandmother had in- 
stantly seen the wretched condition of her grand- 
son, and had partly divined, partly brought him 
to confess, his misdeeds. 

She loved this boy with all her soul. When 
she had learned all, she began to cry. 

Ah, no ! she said, after a long silence, you 
have no heart for your poor grandmother. You 
have no feeling, to take advantage in this manner 
of the absence of your father and mother, to 
cause me sorrow. You have left me alone the 
whole day long. You had not the slightest com- 
passion. Take care, Ferruccio! You are enter- 
ing on an evil path which will lead you to a sad 
end. I have seen others begin like you, and come 
to a bad end. If you begin by running away 
from home, by getting into brawls with the other 
boys, by losing soldi, then, gradually, from stone 
fights you will come to knives, from gambling to 
other vices, and from other vices to — theft.^’ 

Ferruccio stood listening three paces away, lean- 
ing against a cupboard, with his chin on his breast 
and his brows knit, being still hot with wrath 
from the brawl. A lock of fine chestnut hair fell 
across his forehead, and his blue eyes were mo- 
tionless. 


202 


MARCH. 


“ From gambling to theft! ” repeated his grand- 
mother, continuing to weep. Think of it, Fer- 
ruccio! Think of that scourge of the country 
about here; of that Vito Mozzoni, who is now 
playing the vagabond in the town; who, at the 
age of twenty-four, has been twice in prison, and 
has made that poor woman, his mother, die of a 
broken heart. I knew her. And his father has 
fled to Switzerland in despair. Think of that 
bad fellow, whose salute your father is ashamed 
to return: he is always roaming with miscreants 
worse than himself, and some day he will go to 
the galleys. Well, I knew him as a boy, and he 
began as you are doing. Eeflect that you will re- 
duce your father and mother to the same end as 
his.” 

Ferruccio held his peace. He was not bad at 
heart; quite the reverse. His pranks arose rather 
from an overflow of life and boldness than from 
an evil mind. And his father had managed him 
badly just here, for he gave him great liberty, be- 
cause he knew him to be good-hearted and capa- 
ble, at bottom, of the finest sentiments; so he left 
the bridle loose upon the boy’s neck, and waited 
for him to acquire judgment for himself. The 
lad was good rather than perverse, but stubborn; 
and it was hard for him, even when his heart was 
repentant, to allow those good words which win 
pardon to escape his lips, If I have done wrong, 
I will do so no more; I promise it. Forgive me.” 
His soul was full of tenderness at times ; but pride 
would not permit it to show itself. 

“ Ah, Ferruccio,” continued his grandmother, 
seeing that he was silent, not a word of peni- 


BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. 


203 


tence to me! You see to what a condition I am 
reduced, so that 1 am as good as actually buried. 
You ought not to have the heart to make me suffer 
so, to make the mother of your mother, who is 
so old and so near her last day, weep; the poor 
grandmother who has always loved you so, 
who rocked you all night long, night after 
night, when you were a baby a few months 
old, and who did not eat in order to 
play with you, — you do not know that! 
1 always said, ^ This boy will be my con- 
solation ! ^ And now you are killing me ! I 
would willingly give the little life that remains 
to me if I could see you become a good boy, and 
an obedient boy, as you were in those days when 
1 used to lead you to the sanctuary — do you re- 
member, Ferruccio? You used to fill my pockets 
with pebbles and weeds, and 1 carried you home 
in my arms, fast asleep. You used to love your 
poor grandma then. And now I am a paralytic, 
and in need of your affection as of the air to 
breathe, since I have no one else in the world, 
poor, half-dead woman that I am.” 

Ferruccio was on the point of running to his 
grandmother, overcome with sorrow, when he fan- 
cied that he heard a slight noise, a creaking in the 
small adjoining room, the one which opened on 
the garden. But he could not make out whether 
it was the window-shutters rattling in the wind, 
or something el^ 

He bent his head and listened. 

The rain beat down noisily. 

The sound was repeated. His grandmother 
heard it also. 


204 


MARCH. 


What is it?^^ she asked anxiously, after a 
pause. 

The rain,^^ murmured the boy. 

Then, Ferruccio,’’ said the old woman, dry- 
ing her eyes, you promise me that you will be 
good, that you will not make your poor grand- 
mother weep again — ” 

Another faint sound interrupted her. 

“ But it seems to me that it is not the rain ! ” 
she exclaimed, turning pale. Go and see ! ” 

But she instantly added, No; stay here! ” and 
seized Ferruccio by the hand. 

Both remained as they were, and held their 
breath. All they heard was the sound of the 
water. 

Then both were seized with a shivering fit. 

It seemed to them that they heard footsteps in 
the next room. 

“Who’s there?” demanded the lad, recovering 
his breath with an effort. 

No one replied. 

“ Who is it ? ” asked Ferruccio again, chilled 
with terror. 

But hardly had he pronounced these words 
when both uttered a shriek of terror. Two men 
sprang into the room. One of them grasped the 
boy and placed one hand over his mouth; the 
other clutched the old woman by the throat. 

The first said : “ Silence, unless you want to 

die!” m 

The second said : “ Be quiet ! ” and raised aloft 
a knife. 

Both had dark cloths over their faces, with 
holes for the eyes. 


BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. 


205 


For a moment nothing was heard hut the gasp- 
ing breath of all four and the patter of the rain. 
The old woman rattled in her throat, and her eyes 
were starting from her head. 

The man who held the boy said in his ear, 
“Where does your father keep his money?” 

The lad replied faintly, between chattering 
teeth, “Yonder — in the cupboard.” 

“ Come with me,” said the man. 

And he dragged him into the closet room, hold- 
ing him securely by the throat. There was a dark 
lantern standing on the floor. 

“ Where is the cupboard ? ” he demanded. 

The gasping hoy pointed it out. 

Then, in order to make sure of the hoy, the man 
flung him on his knees in front of the cupboard, 
pressing his neck closely between his own legs, in 
such a way that he could throttle him if he 
shouted. Holding his knife in his teeth and his 
lantern in one hand, with the other he pulled from 
his pocket a pointed iron, drove it into the lock, 
fumbled about, broke it, threw the doors wide 
open, tumbled everything over in a perfect fury of 
haste, filled his pockets, shut the cupboard again, 
opened it again, made another search; then he 
seized the hoy by the windpipe, and pushed him 
to where the other man was still grasping the old 
woman, who was in a swoon, with her head thrown 
hack and her mouth open. 

That one asked in a low voice, “ Did you find 
it?” 

His companion replied, “ I found it.” And he 
added, “ See to the door.” 


206 


MARCH. 


The one that was holding the old woman ran 
to the door of the garden to see if there were any 
one there, and called in from the little room, in 
a voice that resembled a hiss, Come ! 

The one who stayed behind, and who was still 
holding Ferruccio fast, showed his knife to the 
boy and the old woman, who had opened her eyes 
again, and said, Not a sound, or I’ll come back 
and cut your throat.” 

And he glared at the two for a moment. 

At this juncture, they heard a song sung by 
many voices far off on the highway. 

The robber turned his head hastily towards the 
door, and the violence of the movement caused 
the cloth to fall from his face. 

The old woman gave a shriek ; Mozzoni ! ” 

“ Accursed woman,” roared the robber, on find- 
ing himself recognized, you shall die ! ” 

He hurled himself, with his knife raised, against 
the old woman, and she fainted away. 

The assassin dealt the blow. 

But Ferruccio, with an exceedingly rapid move- 
ment, and uttering a cry of desperation, had 
rushed to his grandmother, and covered her body 
with his own. The assassin fied, stumbling 
against the table and overturning the light, 
which was extinguished. 

The boy slipped slowly from above his grand- 
mother, fell on his knees, and remained in that 
attitude, with his arms around her body and his 
head upon her breast. 

Several moments passed. It was very dark. 
The song of the peasants gradually died away. 
The old woman recovered her senses. 


BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. 


207 


Ferruccio! she cried, with chattering teeth, 
in a voice that was barely intelligible. 

Grandmother ! replied the lad. 

The old woman made an effort to speak; but 
terror had paralyzed her tongue. She remained 
silent for a while, quivering violently. 

At last she succeeded in asking : They are 

not here now?^’ 

m.” 

“ They did not kill me,^^ murmured the old 
woman in a stifled voice. 

“No; you are safe,^^ said Ferruccio, in a weak 
voice. “ You are safe, dear grandmother. They 
carried off the money. But father had taken 
nearly all of it with him.” 

His grandmother drew a deep breath. 

“ Grandmother,” said Ferruccio, still kneeling, 
and pressing her close to him, “ dear grand- 
mother, you love me, don’t you? ” 

“ 0 Ferruccio ! my poor little son ! ” she replied, 
placing her hands on his head; “what a fright 
you must have had ! — 0 Lord God of mercy ! — 
Light the lamp. No; let us remain in the dark! 
I am still afraid.” 

“ Grandmother,” resumed the boy, “ I have al- 
ways caused you grief.” 

“ No, Ferruccio, you must not say such things; 
I shall never think of that again ; I have forgotten 
everything, I love you so dearly ! ” 

“ I have always caused you grief,” pursued Fer- 
ruccio, with difficulty, and his voice shook ; “ but 
I have always loved you. Do you forgive me? — 
Forgive me, grandmother.” 


208 


MARCH. 


Yes, my son, I forgive you with all my heart. 
Think, how could 1 help forgiving you ! Rise 
from your knees, my child. I will never scold 
you again. You are so good, so good! Let us 
light the lamp. Let us take courage a little. 
Rise, Ferruccio.^’ 

Thanks, grandmother,” said the boy, and his 
voice was still weaker. Now — I am content. 
You will remember me, grandmother — will you 
not? You will always remember me — your Fer- 
ruccio ? ” 

“ My Ferruccio ! ” exclaimed his grandmother, 
amazed and alarmed, as she laid her hands on his 
shoulders and bent her head, as though to look 
him in the face. 

“ Remember me,” murmured the boy once more, 
in a voice that seemed like a breath. “ Give a 
kiss to my mother — to my father — to Luigina. 
— Good-bye, grandmother.” 

In the name of Heaven, what is the matter 
with you? ” shrieked the old woman, feeling the 
boy’s head anxiously, as it lay upon her knees; 
and then with all the power of voice of which her 
throat was capable, and in desperation : “ Fer- 
ruccio! Ferruccio! Ferruccio! My child! My 
love ! Angels of Paradise, come to my aid ! ” 

But Ferruccio made no reply. The little hero, 
the savior of the mother of his mother, stabbed 
in the back by a blow from a knife, had given up 
his noble, daring soul to God. 


THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED. 209 


THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED. 

Tuesday, 18th. 

Poor Muratorino is seriously ill ; the master 
told us to go and see him; and Oarrone, Derossi, 
and I agreed to go together. Stardi would have 
come also, hut as the teacher had assigned' us the 
description of The Monument to Cavonr, he told 
us that he must go and see the monument, in order 
that his description might be more exact. So, by 
way of experiment, we invited that puffed-up fel- 
low, Nobis, who replied No,^’ and nothing more. 
Votini also excused himself, perhaps because he 
was afraid of soiling his clothes with plaster. 

"We went there when we came out of school at 
four o’clock. It was raining in torrents. On the 
street Garrone halted, and said, with his mouth 
full of bread : — 

'What shall I buy? ” and he rattled a couple of 
soldi in his pocket. We gave two soldi each, and 
bought three big oranges. We went up to the 
garret. At the door Derossi took off his medal 
and put it in his pocket. I asked him why. 

“ I don’t know,” he answered; in order not to 
put on airs: it strikes me as more delicate to go 
in without my medal.” 

AVe knocked; the father, that big man who looks 
like a giant, opened to us; his face was sad and 
drawn. 

“ AA^ho are you? ” he asked. 


210 


MARCH. 


Garrone replied: ‘^We are Antonio’s school- 
mates, and we have brought him some oranges.” 

^^Ah, poor Tonino ! ” exclaimed the mason, shak- 
ing his head, “ I fear that he will never eat your 
oranges ! ” and he wiped his eyes with the back of 
his hand. 

He made us come in. We entered an attic room, 
where we saw “ the little mason ” asleep in a little 
iron bed; his mother hung dejectedly over the bed, 
with her face in her hands, and she hardly turned 
to look at us. On one side hung brushes, a trowel, 
and a plaster-sieve. Over the feet of the sick boy 
was spread the mason’s jacket, white with lime. 

The poor boy was thin and very, very white; 
his nose was pointed, and his breath was short. 0 
dear Tonino, my little comrade! you who were so 
kind and merry, how it pains me! what would I 
not give to see you make the hare’s face once more, 
poor little mason! 

Garrone laid an orange on his pillow, close to 
his face; the odor waked him; he grasped it in- 
stantly; then let go of it, and gazed intently at 
Garrone. 

It is I,” said the latter ; Garrone : do you 
know me?” He smiled faintly, lifted his stubby 
hand with difficulty from the bed and held it out 
to Garrone, who took it between his, and laid it 
against his cheek, saying : — 

“ Courage, courage, little mason ; you are going 
to get well soon and come back to school, and the 
teacher will put you next to me; will that please 
you? ” 

But the little mason made no reply. His mother 


THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED. 211 


burst into sobs: Oh, my poor Tonino! My 

poor Tonino ! He is so brave and good, and God 
is going to take him from us ! ’’ 

“ Silence ! ’’ cried the mason ; silence, for the 
love of God, or I shall lose my reason ! 

Then he said to us, with anxiety : “ Go, go, 

boys, I thank you; go! what could you do here? 
I thank you ; go home ! ” 

The boy had closed his eyes again, and appeared 
to be dead. 

Do you need any assistance? asked Garrone. 

No, my good boy, thank you,^^ the mason an- 
swered. And so saying, he pushed us out on the 
landing, and shut the door. But we were not half- 
way down the stairs, when we heard him calling, 
Garrone ! Garrone ! ” 

We all three mounted the stairs ohce more in 
haste. 

Garrone! shouted the mason, with a changed 
countenance, he has called you by name ; it is 
two days since he spoke; he has called you twice; 
he wants you; come quickly! Ah, holy God, if 
this is only a good sign ! 

Farewell for the presen t,^^ said Garrone to us ; 
I shall remain,^’ and he ran in with the father. 

Derossi’s eyes were full of tears. 

“Are you crying for the little mason ? ” I said. 
“ He has spoken; he will recover.” 

“ I believe it,” replied Derossi ; “ but I was not 
thinking of him. I was thinking how good Gar- 
rone is, and what a beautiful soul he has.” 


212 


MARCH. 


COUNT CAVOUE. 

Wednesday, 29th. 

You are to write a description of the monument to 
Count Cavour. You can do it. But who was Count 
Cavour? You cannot understand at present. For 
the present this is all you know; he was for many 
years the prime minister of Piedmont. It was he 
who sent the Piedmontese arm.\ to the Crimea to 
raise once more, wdth the victory of the Cernaia, 
our military glory, wdiich had fallen with the defeat 
at Novara; it was he who made one hundred and 
fifty thousand Frenchmen descend from the Alps to 
chase the Austrians from Lombardy; it was he who 
governed Italy in the most solemn period of our 
revolution; who gave, during those years, the most 
potent impulse to the holy enterprise of the unifica- 
tion of our country, — he with his brilliant mind, with 
his invincible perseverance, with his more than 
human industry. 

Many generals have passed terrible hours on ti e 
field of battle; but he passed more terrible ones in his 
cabinet, when his enormous work might suffer de- 
struction at any moment, like a fragile edifice at the 
tremor of an earthquake. Hours, nights of struggle 
and anguish did he pass, sufficient to make him issue 
from it with reason deranged and death in his heart. 
And it was this gigantic and stormy work which 
shortened his life by twenty years. Nevertheless, 
devoured by the fever which was to cast him into his 
grave, he yet contended desperately with the malady 


COUNT CAVOUR. 


213 


in order to accomplish something for his country. 
“It is strange,” he said sadly on his death-bed, “I 
no longer know how to read; I cannot read.” 

While they were bleeding him, and the fever was 
increasing, he was thinking of his country, and he 
said imperiously: “ Cure me; my mind is clouding 
over; I have need of all my faculties to manage im- 
portant affairs.” During his last moments, when the 
whole city was in a tumult, and the king stood at his 
bedside, he said anxiously, “ I have many things to 
say to you. Sire, many things to show you; but I am 
ill; I cannot, I cannot; ” and he was in despair. 

His feverish thoughts hovered ever round the State, 
round the new Italian provinces which had been 
united with us, round the many things which still 
remained to be done. While the delirium seized him, 
“ Educate the children! ” he exclaimed, between his 
gasps for breath,— “ educate the children and the 
young people — govern with liberty!” 

His delirium increased; death hovered over him. 
And with burning words he invoked General Gari- 
baldi, with whom he had had disagreements, and 
Venice and Rome, which were not yet free: he had 
vast visions of the future of Italy and of Europe; 
he dreamed of a foreign invasion; he inquired where 
the corps of the army were, and the generals; he 
still trembled for us, for his people. His great sor- 
row was not, you understand, that he felt that his 
life was going, but to see himself fleeing his country, 
which still had need of him, and for which he had, 
in a few years, worn out the measureless forces of 
his wonderful constitution. He died with the battle- 
cry in his throat, and his death was as great as his 
life. 


214 


MARCH. 


Now reflect a little, Enrico, wliat sort of a thing 
is our labor, which nevertheless so weighs us down; 
what are our griefs, our death itself, in the face of 
the toils, the terrible anxieties, the tremendous 
agonies of these men upon whose hearts rests a 
wmrld! Think of this, my son, when you pass before 
that marble image, and say, “ Glory! ” in your heart. 

Youb Father. 


SPRING. 


215 


APRIL 


SPEING. 

Saturday, 1st. 

The first of April! Only three months more! 
This has been one of the most beautiful mornings 
of the year. I was happy in school because Coretti 
told me to come day after to-morrow to see the 
king make his entrance. We will go with his 
father, who knows him. Also my mother had 
promised to take me the same day to visit the 
Infant Asylum in the Corso Valdocco. I was 
pleased, too, because the little mason ” is better, 
and because the teacher said to my father yester- 
day evening as he was passing, He is doing well ; 
he is doing well.” 

And then it was a beautiful spring morning. 
From 'the school windows we could see the blue 
sky, the trees of the garden all covered with buds, 
and the wide-open windows of the houses, with 
their boxes and vases already growing green. The 
teacher did not laugh, because he never laughs; 
but he was in a good humor, so that the wrinkle 
hardly ever appeared on his brow; and he ex- 
plained a problem on the blackboard, and jested. 
And it was plain that he felt a pleasure in breath- 
ing the air of the gardens which entered through 
the open window, redolent with the fresh odor of 


216 


APRIL. 


earth and leaves, which suggested thoughts of 
country rambles. 

While he was explaining, we could hear in a 
neighboring street a blacksmith hammering on his 
anvil, and in the house opposite a woman singing 
to lull her baby to sleep. Far away, in the 
Cernaia barracks, the trumpets were sounding. 
Every one seemed glad, even Stardi. Presently 
the blacksmith began to hammer more vigorously, 
the woman to sing more loudly. The teacher 
paused and lent an ear. Then he said, slowly, as 
he gazed out of the window : — 

“ The smiling sky, a singing mother, an honest 
man at work, hoys at study, — these are beautiful 
things.’’ 

When we left school, we saw that every one else 
was cheerful also. All walked in a line, stamping 
loudly with their feet, and humming, as though on 
the eve of a four days’ vacation. The schoolmis- 
tresses were playful; the one with the red feather 
tripped along behind the children like a school- 
girl. The parents of the boys were chatting to- 
gether and smiling, and Crossi’s mother, the vege- 
table-vendor, had so many bunches of violets in 
her basket, that they filled the whole large hall 
with perfume. 

I have never felt so glad as this morning on 
catching sight of my mother, who was waiting for 
me in the street. And I said to her as I ran to 
meet her : — 

Oh, I am happy ! what is it that makes me so 
happy to-day? ” 

And my mother answered smilingly that it was 
the beautiful season and a good conscience. 


KING UMBERTO. 


217 


KING UMBEKTO. 

Monday, 3d. 

At ten o’clock precisely my father, looking from 
the window, saw Coretti, the wood-seller, and his 
son waiting for me in the square. So he said : — 
There they are, Enrico ; go and see yonr king.” 

I went like a flash. Both father and son were 
even more alert than usual, and they never seemed 
to me to resemble each other so strongly as this 
morning. The father wore on his jacket the medal 
for valor between two commemorative medals, and 
his moustaches were curled and as pointed as two 
pins. 

We at once set out for the railway station, where 
the king was to arrive at half-past ten. Coretti, 
the father, smoked his pipe and rubbed his hands. 
“ Do you know,” said he, I have not seen him 
since the war of ’sixty-six? A trifle of fifteen 
3 ^ears and six months. First, three years in France, 
and then at Mondovi, and here, where I might 
have seen him, I have never had the good luck of 
being in the city when he came. Such a piece of 
luck!” 

He called the King Umberto,” like a com- 
rade. Umberto commanded the 16th division; 
Umberto was twenty-two years and so many days 
old; Umberto mounted a horse thus and so. 

Fifteen years I ” he said vehemently, quicken- 
ing his pace. “ I really have a great desire to see 
him again. I left him a prince; I see him once 
more, a king. And I, too, have changed. From 


218 


APRIL. 


a soldier I have become a hawker of wood.^^ And 
he laughed. 

he were to see you, would he remember 
you?” asked his son. 

He began to laugh. 

You are crazy! ” he answered. " That’s quite 
another thing. He, Umberto, was one single man; 
we were as thick as flies. And then, he never 
looked at us one by one.” 

We turned into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele; 
there were many people on their way to the sta- 
tion. A company of Alpine soldiers passed with 
their trumpets. Two armed policemen passed by 
on horseback at a gallop. The day was calm and 
glorious. 

^^Yes!” exclaimed the elder Coretti, growing 
animated, “ it is a real pleasure to me to see him 
once more, the general of my division. Ah, how 
quickly I have grown old! It seems as though it 
were only the other day that I had my knapsack 
on my shoulders and my gun in my hands, at that 
affair of the 24th of June, when we were on the 
point of coming to blows. Umberto was going to 
and fro with his officers, while the cannon were 
thundering in the^ distance; and every one was 
gazing at him and saying, May there not be a 
bullet for him also!’ I was a thousand miles 
from thinking that I should soon And myself so 
near him, in front of the lances of the Austrian 
uhlans; actually, only four paces from each other, 
boys. That was a fine day; the sky was like a 
mirror; but so hot! Let us see if we can get in.” 

We had arrived at the station; there was a 


KING UMBERTO. 


219 


great crowd, — carriages, policemen, carabineers, 
societies with banners. A regimental band was 
playing. The elder Coretti attempted to enter the 
portico, but he was stopped. Then it occurred to 
him to force his way into the front row of the 
crowd which formed an opening at the entrance; 
and making way with his elbow, he succeeded in 
thrusting us forward also. But the shifting 
crowd flung us hither and thither. The wood- 
seller got his eye upon the first pillar of the 
portico, where the police did not allow any one to 
stand; Come with me,^^ he said suddenly, drag- 
ging us by the hand; and he crossed the empty 
space in two bounds, and went and planted him- 
self there, with his back against the wall. 

A police brigadier instantly hurried up and said 
to him, You caiTt stand here.” 

I belong to the fourth battalion of the forty- 
ninth,” replied Coretti, touching his medal. 

The brigadier glanced at it, and said, Stay 
where you are.” 

Didn’t I say so ! ” exclaimed Coretti tri- 
umphantly ; it’s a magic word, that fourth of the 
xorty-ninth! Haven’t I the right to see my gen- 
eral with some little comfort, — I, who was in that 
squadron? I saw him close at hand then; it 
seems right that I should see him close at hand 
now. And I say general! He was my battalion 
commander for a good half-hour; for at such 
times, while the racket was going, he commanded 
the battalion himself, and not Major Ubrich, by 
Heavens ! ” 

In the meantime, in the reception-room and 


220 


APRIL. 


outside, a great mixture of officers and gentlemen 
was visible, and in front of the door, the carriages, 
with the lackeys dressed in red, were drawn up 
in a line. 

Coretti asked his father whether Prince Um- 
berto had carried his sword in his hand when he 
was in a battle. 

Certainly, he held his sword in his hand,^^ the 
latter replied, to ward off a blow from a lance, 
which might strike him as well as another. Ah! 
those unchained demons! They came down on us 
like the wrath of God. They swept between the 
platoons, the squadrons, the cannon, as though 
tossed by a hurricane, crushing down everything. 
There was a whirl of light cavalry of Alessandria, 
of lancers of Foggia, of infantry, of sharp- 
shooters, a pandemonium in which nothing could 
be understood. I heard the shout, ^ Your High- 
ness ! your Highness ! ’ I saw the lowered lances 
approaching; we discharged our guns; a cloud of 
smoke hid everything. Then the smoke cleared 
away. The ground was covered with horses and 
uhlans, wounded and dead. I turned round, and 
beheld Umberto in our midst, on horseback, gaz- 
ing tranquilly about, with the air of demanding. 
Have any of my lads received a scratch ? ^ And 
we shouted, ^ Hurrah ! ’ right in his face, like mad- 
men. Heavens, what a moment that was ! Here’s 
the train coming ! ” 

The band struck up; the officers hastened for- 
ward; the crowd stood on tiptoe. 

“ Eh, he won’t come out in a hurry,” said a 
policeman; ‘Hhey are presenting him with an 
address now.” 


KING UMBERTO. 


221 


The elder Coretti was beside himself with im- 
patience. 

^^Ah ! when I think of it/^ he said, I always 
see him there. Of course, there is cholera and 
there are earthquakes; and in them, too, he bears 
himself bravely; but I always have him before my 
mind as I saw him then, among us, with that 
quiet face. I am sure that he too recalls the 
fourth of the forty-ninth, even now that he is 
King; and that it would give him pleasure to have 
for once, at a table together, all those whom he 
saw about him at such moments. Now, he has 
generals, and great gentlemen, and courtiers; 
then, there was no one but us poor soldiers. If 
we could only exchange a few words alone! Our 
general of twenty- two; our prince, who was in- 
trusted to our bayonets I I have not seen him for 
fifteen years. Our Umberto! that’s .what he is! 
Ah! that music stirs my blood, on my word of 
honor ! ” 

An outburst of shouts interrupted him; thou- 
sands of hats rose in the air; four gentlemen 
dressed in black got into the first carriage. 

“ ’Tis he ! ” cried Coretti, and stood as though 
enchanted. Then he said softly, “ By our lady, 
how gray he has grown ! ” 

We all three uncovered our heads. The car- 
riage advanced slowly through the crowd, who 
shouted and waved their hats. I looked at the 
elder Coretti. He seemed to me another man; he 
seemed to have become taller, graver, rather pale, 
and fastened bolt upright against the pillar. 

The carriage arrived in front of us, a pace 


222 


APRIL. 


distant from the pillar. Hurrah ! shouted 
many voices. 

Hurrah ! shouted Coretti, after the others. 

The King glanced at his face, and his eye dwelt 
for a moment on his three medals. 

Then Coretti lost his head, and roared, The 
fourth battalion of the forty-ninth ! ” 

The King, who had turned away, turned to- 
wards us again, and looking Coretti straight in the 
eye, reached his hand out of the carriage. 

Coretti gave one leap forwards and clasped it. 
The carriage passed on; the crowd broke in and 
separated us; we lost sight of the elder Coretti. 
But it was only for a moment. We found him 
again directly, panting, with wet eyes, calling for 
his son by name, and holding his hand on high. 
His son flew towards him, and he said, Here, 
little one, while my hand is still warm ! and he 
passed his hand over the hoy’s face, saying, This 
is a caress from the King.” 

And there he stood, as though in a dream, with 
his eyes fixed on the distant carriage, smiling, with 
his pipe in his hand, in the centre of a group of 
curious people, who were staring at him. “ He’s 
one of the fourth battalion of the forty-ninth ! ” 
they said. “ He is a soldier that knows the King.” 
^^And the King recognized him.” ^^And he offered 
him his hand.” He gave the King a petition,” 
said one, more loudly. 

Ko,” replied Coretti, whirling round abruptly; 

I did not give him any petition. But there is 
something else that I would give him, if he were 
to ask it of me.” 

Tliey all stared at him. 

“ My blood,” he said simply. 


THE INFANT ASYLUM. 


223 


THE INFANT ASYLUM. 

Tuesday, 4th. 

After breakfast yesterday my mother took me, 
as she had promised, to the Infant Asylum in the 
Corso Valdocco, in order to recommend to the 
directress a little sister of Precossi. I had never 
seen an asylum and I was greatly amused! There 
were two hundred of them, boy-babies and girl- 
babies, and so small that the children in our lower 
primary schools are men in comparison. 

We arrived just as they were going into the 
refectory in two files, where there were two very 
long tables, with a great many round holes, and in 
each hole a black bowl filled with rice and beans, 
and a tin spoon beside it. On entering, 
some of the tots grew confused and remained 
on the floor until the mistresses ran and picked 
them up. Many halted in front of a bowl, 
thinking it was their proper place, and had 
already swallowed a spoonful, when a mistress 
came up and said, “ Go on ! ” and then they 
went on three or four paces and got down 
another spoonful, and then advanced again, until 
they reached their own places, after having eaten 
half a portion more than was due them. At last, 
by dint of pushing and crying, Make haste ! make 
haste ! ’’ they were all got into order, and the 
prayer was begun. But all those on the inner line, 
who had to turn their backs on the bowls for the 
prayer, twisted their heads round to keep an eye 


224 


APRIL. 


on them, lest some one might meddle. They said 
their prayer thus, with hands clasped and their 
eyes on the ceiling, but with their hearts on their 
food. Then they set to eating. 

Ah, what a charming sight it was ! One ate with 
two spoons, another with his hands; many picked 
up the beans one by one, and thrust them into 
their pockets; others wrapped them tightly in their 
little aprons, and pounded them to reduce them 
to a paste. There were even some who did not eat, 
because they were watching the flies flying, and 
others coughed and sprinkled a shower of rice all 
around them. It looked like a poultry-yard. But 
it was fine. The two rows of babies formed a 
pretty sight, with their hair all tied on the tops 
of their heads with red, green, and blue ribbons. 

One teacher asked a row of eight children, 

Where does rice grow?^^ The whole eight 
opened their mouths wide, filled as they were with 
the pottage, and replied in concert, in a sing-song, 
“ It grows in the water.’^ Then the teacher gave 
the order, Hands up ! and it was delightful to 
see all those little arms fly up, which a few months 
ago were in swaddling-clothes, and all those little 
hands waving, which looked like so many white 
and pink butterflies. 

Then they all went to play; but first they tool: 
their little baskets, which were hanging on the 
wall with their lunches in them. They went out 
into the garden and scattered around and got out 
their provisions, — bread, stewed plums, a tiny bit 
of cheese, a hard-boiled egg, little apples, a hand- 
ful of boiled vetches, or a wing of chicken. In an 


THE INFANT ASYLUM. 


225 


instant the whole garden was strewn with crumbs, 
as though they had been scattered from their feed 
by a flock of birds. They ate in all the queerest 
ways, — like rabbits, like rats, like cats, nibbling, 
licking, sucking. There was one child who held 
a bit of rye bread hugged closely to his breast, and 
who was rubbing it with a medlar, as though he 
were polishing a sword. Some of the little ones 
crushed in their fists small cheeses, which trickled 
between their fingers like milk, and ran down in- 
side their sleeves, and they were utterly uncon- 
scious of it. 

They ran and chased each other with apples 
and rolls in their teeth, like dogs. I saw three of 
them digging out a hard-boiled egg with a straw, 
thinking to discover treasures, and they spilled 
half of it on the ground, and then picked the 
crumbs up again one by one with great patience, 
as though they had been pearls. And those who 
had anything unusual were surrounded by eight 
or ten others, who stood staring at the baskets with 
bent heads, as you would look at the moon in a 
well. There were twenty round a mite of a fellow 
who had a paper horn of sugar, and they were 
going through all sorts of ceremonies with him for 
the privilege of dipping their bread in it, and he 
gave it to some, while, after many prayers, he only 
let others put a finger in. 

In the meantime, my mother had come into the 
garden and was petting now one and now an- 
other. Many hung about her, and even on her 
back, begging for a kiss, with faces upturned as 
though to a third story, and with mouths that 


226 


APRIL. 


opened and shut like birds asking for food. One 
offered her the quarter of an orange which had 
been bitten, another a small crust of bread. One 
little girl gave her a leaf; another showed her, 
with all seriousness, the tip of her forefinger, a 
minute examination of which revealed a micro- 
scopic swelling, which had been caused by touch- 
ing the flame of a candle on the day before. They 
placed before her eyes, as great marvels, very tiny 
insects, which I cannot understand their being 
able to see and catch, the halves of corks, shirt- 
buttons, and flowerets pulled from the vases. One 
child, with a bandaged head, who was determined 
to he heard at any cost, stammered out to her some 
story about a head-over-heels tumble, not one 
word of which was intelligible; another insisted 
that my mother should bend down, and then 
whispered in her ear, My father makes brushes.’^ 

And all this while a thousand accidents were 
happening here and there which caused the teach- 
ers to hasten up. Children wept because they 
could not untie a knot in their handkerchiefs. 
Others disputed, with scratches and shrieks, the 
halves of an apple. One child, who had fallen 
face downward over a little bench which had been 
overturned, wept amid the ruins, and could not 
rise. 

Before her departure my mother took three or 
four of them in her arms, and they ran up from 
all quarters to be taken also, their faces smeared 
with yolk of egg and orange juice. One caught 
her hands ; another her finger, to look at her ring ; 
another tugged at her watch chain; another tried 
to seize her by the hair. 


THE INFANT ASYLUM. 


227 


‘‘Take care/^ the teacher said to her; “they 
will tear your clothes all to pieces.” 

But my mother cared nothing for her dress, and 
she continued to kiss them, and they pressed 
closer and closer to her: those who were nearest, 
with their arms held out as though they were 
desirous of climbing; the more distant trying to 
make their way through the crowd, and all cry- 
ing:— 

“Good-bye! good-bye 1 good-bye!” 

At last she succeeded in escaping from the 
garden. And they all ran and thrust their faces 
through the railings to see her pass, and to put 
their arms through to greet her, once more offer- 
ing her bits of bread, bites of apple, cheese-rinds, 
and all screaming together : — 

“ Good-bye ! good-bye ! good-bye ! Come back 
to-morrow ! Come again ! ” 

As my mother made her escape, she passed her 
hand once more over those hundreds of tiny out- 
stretched hands as over a garland of living roses, 
and finally reached the street in safety, covered 
with crumbs and spots, rumpled and dishevelled, 
with one hand full of flowers and her eyes swelling 
with tears, and happy as though she had come from 
a festival. And inside there was still audible a 
sound like the twittering of birds, saying : — 

“ Good-bye ! good-bye ! Come again, lady ! ” 


228 


APRIL. 


GYMNASTICS. 

Wednesday, 5th. 

As the weather stays fine, they have made us 
pass from indoor gymnastics to gymnastics with 
apparatus in the garden. 

Garrone was in the principaFs office yesterday 
when NellFs mother, that blonde woman dressed 
in black, came in to get her son excused from the 
new exercises. Every word cost her an effort ; and 
as she spoke, she held one hand on her son’s head. 

He is not able to do it,” she said to the prin- 
cipal. But Nelli seemed Iiurt at this exclusion 
from the apparatus, at having this added humilia- 
tion imposed upon him. 

You will see, mamma,” he said, that I shall 
do like the rest.” 

His mother gazed at him in silence, with an air 
of pity and affection. Then she remarked, in a 
hesitating way, I fear lest his companions — ” 

What she meant to say was, lest they should 
make sport of him.” But Nelli replied: — 

They will not do anything to me — and then, 
there is Garrone. It is enough for him to be 
present, to prevent their laughing.” 

So he was allowed to come. The teacher with 
the wound on his neck, who was with Gari- 
baldi, led us at once to the vertical bars, which 
are very high, and we had to climb to the verv 
top, and stand upright on the cross plank. De- 
rossi and Coretti went up like monkeys ; even little 


GYMNASTICS. 


229 


Precossi mounted briskly, ,in spite of the fact that 
he was hindered by that jacket which extends to 
his knees; and in order to make him laugh while 
he was climbing, all the boys repeated his con- 
stant expression, Excuse me ! excuse me ! 
Stardi puffed, turned as red as a turkey-cock, and 
set his teeth until he looked like a mad dog; but 
he would have reached the top at the expense of 
bursting, and he actually did get there; and so 
did E’obis, who, when he reached the' summit, as- 
sumed the attitude of an emperor. But Votini 
slipped back twice, notwithstanding his fine new 
suit with blue stripes, which had been made ex- 
pressly for gymnastics. 

In order to climb the more easily, all the boys 
had daubed their hands with resin, which they call 
colophony, and as a matter of course it is that 
trader of a Garoffi who provide every one with it, 
selling it at a soldo the paper hornful, and turning 
a pretty penny. 

Then it was Garrone’s turn, and up he went, 
chewing away at his bread as though it were noth- 
ing out of the common; and I believe that he 
would have been capable of carrying one of us up 
on his shoulders, for he is as muscular and strong 
as a young bull. 

After Garrone came Nelli. No sooner did the 
boys see him grasp the bars with those long, thin 
hands of his, than many of them began to laugh 
and to sing; but Garrone crossed his big arms on 
his breast, and darted round a glance which was so 
expressive, which so clearly said that he did not 
mind dealing out half a dozen punches, even in 


230 


APRIL. 


the master’s presence, that they all ceased laugh- 
ing on the instant. Nelli began to climb, lie 
tried hard, poor little fellow; his face grew purple, 
he breathed with difficulty, and the perspiration 
poured from his brow. The master said, Come 
down ! ” But he would not. He strove and per- 
sisted. I expected every moment to see him fall 
headlong, half dead. Poor Nelli! I thought, what 
if I had been like him, and my mother had seen 
me ! How she would have suffered, poor mother ! 
And as I thought of that I felt so tenderly 
towards Nelli that I could have given anything to 
help him climb those bars, or boost him from be- 
low without being seen. 

Meanwhile Garrone, Derossi, and Coretti were 
saying: Up with you, Nelli, up with you!” 

Try — one effort more — courage ! ” And Nelli 
made one more violent effort, uttering a groan as 
he did so, and found himself within two spans of 
the plank. 

Bravo 1 ” shouted the others. “ Courage — 
one dash more! ” and behold! Nelli was clinging 
to the plank. 

All clapped their hands. Bravo ! ” said the 
teacher. But that will do now. Come down.” 

But Nelli wished to go to the top like the rest, 
and after a little exertion he succeeded in getting 
his elbows on the plank, then his knees, then his 
feet ; at last he stood upright, panting and smiling, 
and gazed at us. 

We began to clap again, and then he looked into 
the street. I turned in that direction, and through 
the plants which cover the iron railing of the 
garden I caught sight of his mother, passing along 


MY FATHER'S TEACHER. 


231 


the sidewalk without daring to look. Nelli came 
down, and we all made much of him. He was 
excited and rosy, his eyes sparkled, and he no 
longer seemed like the same hoy. 

At the close of school, when his mother came 
to meet him, and inquired with some anxiety, as 
she embraced him, ‘^^Well, my poor son, how did 
it go? how did it go?'’ all his comrades replied. 
He did well — he climbed like the rest of us — 
he's strong, you know — he’s active — he does ex- 
actly like the others." 

And the joy of that woman was a sight to see. 
She tried to thank us, and could not; she shook 
hands with three or four, patted Garrone, and 
carried off her son; and we watched them for a 
while, walking fast, talking and gesticulating, 
both perfectly happy, as though no one were look- 
ing at them. 


MY FATHEE'S TEACHEE. 

Tuesday, 11th. 

What a fine trip 1 took yesterday with my 
father! This is the way it came about. 

Day before yesterday, at dinner, as my father 
was reading the newspaper, he suddenly gave an 
exclamation of surprise. Then he said : — 

^^And I thought him dead twenty years ago! 
Do you know that my o]d first elementary teacher, 
Vincenzo Crosetti, is eighty-four years old? I see 
here that the minister has conferred on him the 
inedM of merit for sixty years of teaching. Sixty 


232 


APRIL. 


years, you understand! And it is only two years 
since he stopped teaching school. Poor Crosetti! 
He lives an hour’s journey from here by rail, at 
Condove, in the country of our old gardener’s 
wife, of the town of Chieri.” And he added, 
Enrico, we will go and see him.” 

He talked of nothing but him the whole even- 
ing. The name of his primary teacher recalled to 
his mind a thousand things which had happened 
when he was a boy, — his early companions, his 
dead mother. “ Crosetti 1 ” he exclaimed. He 
was forty when I was with him. I seem to see him 
now. He was a small man, somewhat bent even 
then, with bright eyes, and always cleanly shaven. 
Severe, but in a good way; for he loved us like a 
father, and forgave us more than one offence. He 
had risen from a peasant by virtue of study and 
privations. He was a fine man. My mother was 
attached to him, and my father treated him like 
a friend. How comes it that he has gone to end 
his days at Condove, near Turin? He certainly 
will not know me. Never mind; I shall know 
him. Forty-four years have elapsed, — forty-four 
years, Enrico! and we will go to see him to-mor- 
row.” 

So yesterday morning, at nine o’clock, we were 
at the Susa railway station. I should have liked 
to have Garrone come too; but he could not, be- 
cause his mother is ill. 

It was a beautiful spring day. The train ran 
through green fields and hedgerows in blossom, 
and the air we breathed was perfumed. My father 
was delighted, and every little while he would put 


MY FATHER’S TEACHER. 


233 


his arm round my neck and talk to me like a 
friend, as he gazed out over the country. 

“Poor Crosetti!^’ he said; “he was the first 
man, after my father, to love me and do me good. 
I have never forgotten certain of his good counsels, 
and also certain sharp reprimands which caused me 
to go home with a lump in my throat. His hands 
were large and stubby. I can see him now, as he 
used to enter the schoolroom, place his cane in a 
corner and hang his coat on the peg, always with 
the same gesture. And every day he was in the 
same humor, — always conscientious, full of good 
will, and attentive, as though each day he were 
teaching school for the first time. I remember 
him as well as though I heard him noAV when he 
called to me : ‘ Bottini ! eh, Bottini ! The fore 

and middle fingers on that pen ! ’ He must have 
changed greatly in these four and forty years.” 

As soon as we reached Condove, we went in 
search of our old gardener’s wife of Chieri, who 
keeps a stall in an alley. We found her with her 
boys: she made much of us and gave us news of 
her husband, who is soon to return from Greece, 
where he has been working these three years; and 
of her eldest daughter, who is in the Deaf-mute 
Institute in Turin. Then she pointed out to us 
the street which led to the teacher’s house — for 
every one knows him. 

We left the town, and turned into a steep lane 
flanked by blossoming hedges. 

My father no longer talked, but appeared en- 
tirely lost in his reminiscences; and every now 
and then he smiled, and shook his head. 


234 


APRIL. 


Suddenly he halted and said : “ Here he is. I 
will wager that this is he.^’ Down the lane to- 
wards us a little old man with a white beard and 
a large hat came, leaning on a cane. He dragged 
his feet along, and his hands trembled. 

“ It is he ! repeated my father, hastening his 
steps. 

When we were close to him, we stopped. The 
old man stopped also and looked at my father. 
His face was still fresh colored, and his eyes were 
clear and bright. 

^^Are you,^’ asked my father, raising his hat, 
Vincenzo Crosetti, the schoolmaster?^^ 

The old man raised his hat also, and replied: 
I am,” in a voice that was somewhat tremulous, 
but full. 

“ Well, then,” said my father, taking one of his 
hands, permit one of your old scholars to shake 
your hand and to inquire how you are. I have 
come from Turin to see you.” 

The old man stared at him in amazement. Then 
he said: You do me too much honor. I do not 

know — when were you my scholar? Excuse 
me; your name, if you please.” 

My father told his name, Alberto Bottini, and 
the year in which he had attended school, and 
where, and he added : It is natural that you 

should not remember me. But I recall you per- 
fectly ! ” 

The master bent his head and gazed at the 
ground in thought, and muttered my father’s name 
three or four times ; the latter, meanwhile, watched 
him with intent and smiling eyes. 


MY FATHER’S TEACHER. 


235 


All at once the old man raised his face, with his 
eyes opened widely, and said slowly: '^Alberto 
Bottini? the son of Bottini, the engineer? the one 
who lived in the Piazza della Consolata? ’’ 

The same,^^ replied my father, holding out his 
hands. 

“ Then,” said the old man, permit me, my 
dear sir, permit me ; ” and advancing, he embraced 
my father : his white head hardly reached the lat- 
ter’s shoulder. My father pressed his cheek to 
his brow. 

Have the goodness to come with ijie,” said the 
teacher. And without speaking further he turned 
about and took the road to his dwelling. 

In a few minutes we arrived at a garden plot in 
front of a tiny house with two doors, round one 
of which there was a fragment of whitewashed 
wall. 

The teacher opened the second and ushered us 
into a room. There were four white wall^: in one 
corner a cot bed with a blue and white checked 
coverlet; in another, a small table with a little 
library; four chairs, and an old map nailed to the 
wall. A pleasant odor of apples was noticeable. 

We seated ourselves, all three. My father and 
his teacher were silent for several minutes. 

Bottini ! ” exclaimed the master at length, fix- 
ing his eyes on the brick floor where the sunlight 
formed a checker-board. Oh ! I remember well ! 
Your mother was such a good woman! For a 
while, during your first year, you sat on a bench 
to the left near the window. Let us see whether 
I do not recall it. I can still see your curly head.” 


236 


APRIL. 


Then he thought for a while longer. You were 
a lively lad, eh? Very. The second year you had 
an attack of croup. I remember when they 
brought you back to school, thin and wrapped up 
in a shawl. Forty years have gone by since then, 
have they not? You are very kind to remember 
your poor teacher. And do you know, others of 
my old pupils have come hither in years gone by 
to seek me out : there was a colonel, and there were 
some priests, and several gentlemen.^^ He asked 
my father what his profession was. Then he said, 

I am glad,^ heartily glad. I thank you. It is 
quite a while now since I have seen any one. I 
very much fear that you will be the last, my dear 
sir.^’ 

“ Don’t say that,” exclaimed my father. ^^You 
are well and still vigorous. You must not say 
that.” 

“ Eh, no ! ” replied the master ; “ do you see 
this trembling? ” and he showed us his hands. 
“ This is a bad sign. It seized on me three years 
ago, while I was still teaching school. At first I 
paid no attention to it ; I thought it would pass ofi. 
But instead of that, it stayed and kept on increas- 
ing. A day came when I could no longer write. 
Ah ! that day on which I, for the first time, made a 
blot on the copy-book of one of my scholars was 
a stab in the heart for me, my dear sir. I did 
drag on for a while longer; but I was at the end 
of my strength. After sixty years of teaching I 
was forced to bid farewell to my school, to my 
scholars, to work. And it was hard, you under- 
stand, hard. The last time that I gave a lesson. 


MY FATHER’S TEACHER. 


237 


all the scholars accompanied me home, and made 
much of me; but 1 was sad; I understood that 
my life was finished. I had lost my wife the year 
before, and my only son. I had only two peasant 
grandchildren left. Now I am living on a pen- 
sion of a few hundred lire. I no longer do any- 
thing; it seems to me as though the days would 
never come to an end. My only occupation, you 
see, is to turn over my old schoolbooks, my 
scholastic journals, and a few volumes that have 
been given to me. There they are,^^ he said, in- 
dicating his little library ; there are my memories, 
my whole past; I have nothing else left to me in 
the world.^^ 

Then in a tone that was suddenly joyous, I 
want to give you a surprise, my dear Signor Bot- 
tini.'’^ 

He rose, and approaching his desk, he opened a 
long casket holding numerous little parcels, all 
tied up with a slender cord, and each bearing a 
date in four figures. 

After a little search, he opened one, turned over 
several papers, drew forth a yellowed sheet, and 
handed it to my father. It was some of his school 
work of forty years before. 

At the top was written, Alberto Bottini, Dicta- 
tion, April 3, 1838. My father instantly recog- 
nized his own large, schoolboy hand, and began 
to read it with a smile. But all at once his eyes 
grew moist. I rose and inquired the cause. 

He threw one arm around my body, and pressing 
me to his side, he said : “ Look at this sheet of 

paper. Do you see? These are the corrections 


238 


APRIL. 


made by my poor mother. She always strength- 
ened my fs and my fs. And the last lines are 
entirely hers. She had learned to imitate my let- 
ters; and when I was tired and sleepy, she finished 
my work for me. My sainted mother ! 

And he kissed the page. 

See here/^ said the teacher, showing him the 
other packages ; these are my mementoes. Each 
year I laid aside one piece of work of each of my 
pupils; and they are all here, dated and arranged 
in order. Every time that I open them thus, and 
read a line here and there, a thousand things recur 
to my mind, and I seem to be living once more in 
the days that are past. How many of them have 
passed, my dear sir! I close my eyes, and I see 
behind me face after face, class after class, hun- 
dreds and hundreds of boys, and who knows how 
many of them are already dead 1 ^lany of them I 
remember well. I recall distinctly the best and 
the worst : those who gave me the greatest pleasure, 
and those who caused me to pass sorrowful mo- 
ments; for I have had serpents, too, among that 
vast number! But now, you understand, it is as 
though I were already in the other world, and I 
love them all equally.” 

He sat down again, and took one of my hands 
in his. 

^‘And tell me,” my father said, with a smile, 

do you recall any of my roguish tricks? ” 

Of yours, sir? ” replied the old man, also with 
a smile. ^^Ho; not just at this moment. But 
that does not in the least mean that you never 
played any. However, you had good judgment; 


MY FATHER’S TEACHER. 


239 


you were serious for your age. I remember your 
mother’s great love for you. But it is very kind 
and courteous of you to have come to seek me out. 
How could you leave your business, to come and 
see a poor old schoolmaster? ’’ 

Listen, Signor Crosetti,” responded my father 
with vivacity. I recollect the first time that my 
poor mother accompanied me to school. It was 
to be her first parting from me for two hours; of 
letting me out of the house alone, in other hands 
than my father’s; in the hands of a stranger, in 
short. To this good creature my entrance into 
school was like my entrance into the world, — the 
first of a long series of necessary and painful sep- 
arations; it was society which was tearing her son 
from her for the first time, never again to return 
him to her entirely. She was much affected; so 
was I. I bade her farewell with a trembling voice, 
and then, as she went away, I saluted her once 
more through the glass in the door, with my eyes 
full of tears. And just at that point you made a 
gesture with one hand, laying the other on your 
breast, as though to say, ^ Trust me, madam.’ 
Well, the gesture, the glance, from which I saw 
that you had understood all the feelings, all the 
thoughts of my mother; that look which seemed do 
say, ‘ Courage ! ’ that gesture which was an honest 
promise of protection, of affection, of indulgence, 
I have never forgotten; it has remained forever 
engraved on my heart; and it is that memory 
which induced me to set out from Turin. And 
here I am, after the lapse of four and forty years, 
for the purpose of saying to you, ^ I thank you, my 
dear teacher.’ ” 


240 


APRIL. 


The master did not reply; he stroked my hair 
with his hand, and his hand shook, and glided 
from my hair to my forehead, from my forehead 
to my shoulder. 

In the meantime, my father was noticing the 
bare walls, the wretched bed, the morsel of bread 
and the little phial of oil which lay on the window- 
sill; and he seemed desirous of saying, “Poor 
master! after sixty years of teaching, is this all 
your reward?” 

But the good old man was content, and began 
once more to talk gayly of our family, of the other 
teachers of that day, and of my father’s school- 
mates; some of them he remembered, and some 
of them he did not. And each told the other 
news of this one or of that one. When my father 
interrupted the conversation, to beg the old man 
to come down into the town and lunch with us, 
he replied effusively, “ I thank you, I thank you,” 
but he seemed undecided. My father took him 
by both hands, and insisted. 

“ But how should I manage to eat,” said the 
master, “ with these poor hands which shake in 
this way? It is a penance for others also.” 

“We will help you, master,” said my father. 
And then he accepted, as he shook his head and 
smiled. 

“ This is a beautiful day,” he said, as he closed 
the outer door, “ a beautiful day, dear Signor Bot- 
tini! I assure you that I shall remember it as 
long as I live.” 

My father gave one arm to the master, and the 
latter took me by the hand, and we walked down 


MY FATHER’S TEACHER. 


24.1 


the lane. We met two little barefooted girls 
leading some cows, and a boy who passed us on a 
run, with a huge load of straw on his shoulders. 
The master told us that they were scholars of the 
second grade; that in the morning they led the 
cattle to pasture, and worked in the fields bare- 
foot; and in the afternoon they put on their shoes 
and went to school. It was nearly mid-day. We 
met no one else. In a few minutes we reached 
the inn, seated ourselves at a large table, with the 
master between us, and began our lunch. The 
inn was as silent as a convent. The teacher was 
very merry, and his excitement increased his 
palsy: he could hardly eat. But my father cut 
up his meat, broke his bread, and put salt on his 
plate. In order to drink, he was obliged to hold 
the glass with both hands, and even then he 
struck his teeth. But he talked constantly, and 
with ardor, of the reading-books of his young 
days; of the schools of the present day; of the 
praises bestowed on him by his superiors; of the 
rules of late years: and all with that serene coun- 
tenance, a trifle redder than at first, and with that 
gay voice of his, and that laugh which was almost 
tlie laugh of a young man. And my father gazed 
and gazed at him, with that same expression with 
which I sometimes catch him looking at me, at 
home, when he is thinking and smiling to himself, 
with his face turned aside. 

The teacher let some wine trickle down on his 
breast; my father rose, and wiped it off with his 
napkin. N'o, sir; I cannot permit this,’' the 
old man said, and smiled. He said some words 


242 


APRIL. 


in Latin. And, finally, he raised his glass, which 
wavered about in his hand, and said very gravely. 

To your health, my dear signor, to that of 
your children, to the memory of your good 
mother ! 

To yours, my good master ! replied my 
father, pressing his hand. And at the end of the 
room stood the innkeeper and several others, watch- 
ing us, and smiling as though they were pleased 
at this attention which was being shown to the 
teacher from their parts. 

At a little after two o’clock we came out, and 
the teacher wanted to escort us to the station. 
My father gave him his arm once more, and he 
again took me by the hand : I carried his cane for 
him. The people paused to look on, for they 
all knew him: some saluted him. At one point 
in the street we heard, through an open window, 
many boys’ voices, reading together, and spelling. 
The old man halted, and seemed to be saddened 
by it. 

This, my dear Signor Bottini,” he said, is 
what pains me. To hear the voices of boys in 
school, and not to be there any more; to think 
that another man is there. I have heard that 
music for sixty years, and I have grown to love it. 
isow I am deprived of my family. I have no 
sons.” 

No, master,” my father said to him, starting 
on again ; you still have many sons, scattered 
about the world, who remember you, as I have 
always remembered you.” 

‘^No, no,” replied the master sadly; I no 


MY FATHER’S TEACHER. 


243 


longer have a school; I no longer have any sons. 
And without sons, I shall not live much longer. 
My hour will soon strike.” 

Do not say that, master; do not think it,” 
said my father. '' You have done so much good 
in every way! You have put your life to such 
a noble use ! ” 

The aged teacher hent his hoary head for an 
instant on my father’s shoulder, and pressed my 
hand. 

We entered the station. The train was on the 
point of starting. 

Farewell, master ! ” said my father, kissing 
him on both cheeks. 

Farewell ! thanks ! farewell ! ” replied the mas- 
ter, taking one of my father’s hands in his two 
trembling hands, and pressing it to his heart. 

Then I kissed him and felt that his face was 
bathed in tears. My father pushed me into the 
railway carriage, and at the moment of starting 
he quickly removed the coarse cane from the 
schoolmaster’s hand, and in its place he put his 
own handsome one, with a silver handle and his 
initials, saying, Keep it in memory of me.” 

The old man tried to return it and to recover 
his own ; hut my father was already inside and had 
closed the door. 

“ Farewell, my kind master ! ” 

Farewell, my son ! ” responded the teacher as 
the train moved off ; and may God bless you for 
the consolation which you have afforded to a poor 
old man ! ” 

Until we meet again ! ” cried my father, in a 
voice full of emotion. 


244 


APRIL. 


But the teacher shook his head, as much as to 
say, “ We shall never see each other more.^^ 

“ Yes, yes,^"* repeated my father, until we 
meet again ! ” 

And the other replied by raising his trembling 
hand to heaven, ‘‘Up there ! ” 

And thus he disappeared from our sight, with 
his hand on high. 


CONVALESCENCE. 

Thursday, 20th. 

Who could have told me, when I returned from 
that delightful trip with my father, that for ten 
days I should not see the country or the sky again? 
I have been very ill — in danger of my life. I 
have heard my mother sobbing — I have seen my 
father very, very pale, gazing intently at me; and 
my sister Silvia and my brother talking in a low 
voice; and the doctor, with his spectacles, who 
\ras there every moment, and who said things to 
me that I did not understand. In truth, I have 
been on the verge of saying a final farewell to ev- 
ery one. Ah, my poor mother ! I passed three or 
four days at least, of which I recollect almost noth- 
ing, as though I had been in a dark and perplex- 
ing dream. I thought I beheld at my bedside my 
kind schoolmistress of the upper primary, who 
was trying to stifle her cough in her handkerchief 
in order not to disturb me. In the same manner 
I confusedly recall my teacher, who bent over to 
kiss me, and who pricked my face a little with his 


CONVALESCENCE. 


245 


beard; and I saw, as in a mist, the red head of 
Crossi, the golden curls of Derossi, the Calabrian 
clad in black, all pass by, and Garrone, who 
brought me a mandarin orange with its leaves, and 
ran away in haste because his mother is ill. 

Then I awoke as from a very long dream, and 
understood that I was better from seeing my 
father and mother smiling, and hearing Silvia 
singing softly. Oh, what a sad dream it was! 
Then I began to improve every day. The “ little 
mason came and made me laugh once more for 
the first time, with his hare’s face; and how well 
he does it, now that his face is somewhat length- 
ened through illness, poor fellow! And Coretti 
came. And Garoffi came to present me with two 
tickets in his new lottery of a penknife with five 
surprises,” which he purchased of a second-hand 
dealer in the Via Bertola. Then, yesterday, 
while I was asleep, Precossi came and laid his 
cheek on my hand without waking me; and as he 
came from his father’s workshop, with his face 
covered with coal dust, he left a black print on 
my -sleeve, the sight of which caused me great 
pleasure when I awoke. 

How green the trees have become in these few 
days ! And how I envy the boys whom I see run- 
ning to school with their books when my father 
carries me to the window! But I shall go back 
there soon myself. I am so impatient to see all 
the boys once more, and my seat, the garden, the 
streets; to know all that has taken place during 
the interval; to apply myself to my books again, 
and to my copy-books, which I seem not to have 
seen for a year! 


246 


APRIL. 


How pale and thin my poor mother has grown ! 
Poor father! how weary he looks! And my kind 
companions who came to see me and walked on 
tiptoe and kissed my brow! It makes me sad, 
even now, to think that one day we must part. 
Perhaps I shall continue my studies with Derossi 
and with some others; but how about all the rest? 
When the fourth grade is once finished, then good- 
bye! we shall never see each other again: I shall 
never see them again at my bedside when I am 
ill, — Garrone, Precossi, Coretti, who are such fine 
boys and kind and dear comrades, — never more ! 


FEIENDS AMONG THE WOKKINGMEN. 

Thursday, 20th. ' 
Why “ never more,” Enrico? That will depend on 
yourself. Wlien you have finished the fourth grade, 
you will go to the High School, and they will become 
workingmen; but you will remain in the same city 
for many years, perhaps. Why, then, will you never 
meet again? When you are in the University or the 
Lyceum, you will seek them out in their shops or 
their workrooms, and it will be a great pleasure for 
you to meet the companions of your youth once more, 
as men at work. 

1 should wonder to see you neglecting to look up 
Coretti or Precossi, wherever they may be! And 
you will go to them, and you will pass hours in their 
company, and you will see, when you come to study 
life and the world, how many things you can learn 


FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN. 247 


from them, which no one else is capable of teaching 
you, both about their arts and their society and your 
own country. And have a care; for if you do not 
preserve these friendships, it will be extremely diffi- 
cult for you to acquire other similar ones in the 
future,— friendships, I mean to say, outside of the 
class to which you belong; and thus you will live in 
one class only; and the man who associates with but 
one social class is like the student who reads but 
one book. 

Let it be your firm resolve, then, from this day 
forth, that you will keep these good friends even 
after you shall be separated, and from this time 
forth, cultivate precisely these by preference because 
they are the sons of workingmen. You see, men of 
the upper classes are the officers, and men of the 
lower classes are the soldiers of toil; and thus in 
society as in the army, not only is the soldier no less 
noble than the officer, since nobility consists in work 
and not in wages, in valor and not in rank; but if 
there is also a superiority of merit, it is on the side 
of the soldier, of the workmen, who draw the lesser 
profit from the work. 

Therefore love and respect above all others, among 
your companions, the sons of the soldiers of labor; 
honor in them the toil and the sacrifices of their 
parents; disregard the differences of fortune and of 
class, upon which the base alone regulate their senti- 
ments and courtesy; reflect that from the veins of 
laborers in the shops and in the country issued nearly 
all that blessed blood which has redeemed your 
country; love Garrone, love Coretti, love Precossi, 
love your “ little mason,” who, in their little working- 


248 


APRIL. 


men’s breasts, possess the hearts of princes; and take 
an oath to yourself that no change of fortune shall 
ever wipe out these friendships of childhood from 
your soul. Swear to yourself that forty years hence, 
if, while passing through a railway station, you 
recognize your old Garrone in the garments of an 
engineer, with a black face, — ah! I cannot think what 
to tell you to swear. I am sure that you will jump 
upon the engine and fling your arms round his neck, 
though you were even a senator of the kingdom. 

Your Father. 


GARRONE’S MOTHER. 

Saturday, 29th. 

On my return to school, the first thing I heard 
was some bad news. Garrone had not been there 
for several days because his mother was seriously 
ill. She died on Saturday. Yesterday morning, 
as soon as we came into school, the teacher said 
to us ; — 

The greatest misfortune that can happen to 
a boy has happened to poor Garrone: his mother 
is dead. He will return to school to-morrow. 1 
beseech you, boys, respect the terrible sorrow that 
is now rending his soul. When he enters, greet 
him with affection, and gravely; let no one jest, 
let no one laugh at him, I beg of you.” 

And this morning poor Garrone came in, a lit- 
tle later than the rest; I felt a blow at my heart 
at the sight of him. His face was haggard, his 
eyes* were red, and he was unsteady on his feet; 


GARRONE’S MOTHER. 


249 


it seemed as though he had been ill for a month. 
I hardly recognized him; he was dressed all in 
black; he aroused our pity. No one even 
breathed; all gazed at him. No sooner had he 
entered than at the first sight of that schoolroom 
whither his mother had come to get him nearly 
every day, of that bench over which she had bent 
on so many examination days to give him a last 
bit of advice, and where he had so many times 
thought of her, in his impatience to run out and 
meet her, he burst into a desperate fit of weeping. 
The teacher drew him aside to his own place, and 
pressed him to his breast, and said to him : — 

‘MVeep, weep, my poor boy; but take courage. 
Your mother is no longer here; but she sees you, 
she still loves you, she still lives by your side, and 
one day you will behold her once again, for you 
have a good and noble soul like her own. Take 
courage ! ” 

Having said this, he accompanied him to the 
bench near me. I dared not look at him. He 
drew out his copy-books and his books, which he 
had not opened for many days, and as he opened 
the reading-book at a place where there was a cut 
representing a mother leading her son by the 
hand, he burst out crying again, and laid his head 
on his arm. The master made us a sign to leave 
him thus, and began the lesson. I should have 
liked to say something to him, but I did not know 
what. I laid one hand on his arm, and whispered 
in his ear : — 

Don’t cry, Garrone.” 

He made no reply, and without raising his head 


250 


APRIL. 


from the bench he laid his hand on mine and kept 
it there a while. At the close of school, no one 
spoke to him; all hovered round him respectfully, 
and in silence. I saw my mother waiting for me, 
and ran to embrace her; but she held me back, and 
gazed at Garrone. For the moment I could not 
understand why; but then I saw that Garrone 
was standing apart by himself and looking at me ; 
and he had a look of indescribable sadness, which 
seemed to say : You are embracing your 

mother, and I shall never embrace mine again! 
You still have a mother, and mine is dead 1 ” And 
then I knew why my mother had thrust me back, 
and I went out without taking her hand. 


GIUSEPPE MAZZm. 

Saturday, 29tb. 

This morning, also, Garrone came to school 
with a pale face and his eyes swollen with weep- 
ing, and he hardly cast a glance at the little gifts 
which we had placed on his desk to console him. 
But the teacher had brought a page from a book 
to read to him in order to encourage him. He 
first informed us that we are to go to-morrow at 
one oYlock to the town-hall to witness the award 
of the medal for civic valor to a boy who has 
saved a little child from the Po, and that on Mon- 
day he will dictate the description of the festival 
to us instead of the monthly story. Then turn- 
ing to Garrone, who was standing with drooping 
head, he said to him : — 


GIUSEPPE MAZZINI. 


251 


Make an effort, Garrone, and write down what 
I dictate to yon as well as the rest/’ 

We all took our pens, and the teacher dictated. 

Giuseppe Mazzini was born in Genoa in 1805 
and died in Pisa in 1872, a grand, patriotic soul, 
the mind of a great writer, the first inspirer and 
apostle of the Italian Eevolution; who, out of love 
for his country, lived for forty years poor, exiled, 
persecuted, a fugitive heroically steadfast in his 
principles and in his resolutions. Giuseppe Maz- 
zini, who adored his mother, and who derived 
from her all that there was noblest and purest in 
her strong and gentle soul, wrote as follows to a 
faithful friend of his, to console him in the great- 
est of misfortunes. These are almost his exact 
words : — 

^ My friend, you will never more behold your 
mother on this earth. That is the terrible truth. 
I do not attempt to see you, because yours is one 
of those solemn and sacred sorrows which each 
must suffer and conquer for himself. Do you 
understand what I mean to convey by the words. 
One must conquer sorrow — conquer the least 
sacred, the least purifying part of sorrow, that 
which, instead of rendering the soul better, weak- 
ens and debases it? But the other part of sor- 
row, the noble part — that which enlarges and 
elevates the soul — ^that must remain and never 
leave you more. Nothing here below can take 
• the place of a good mother. In the griefs, in the 
consolations which life may still bring you, you 
will never forget her. But you must recall her, 
love her, mourn her death, in a manner which is 
worthy of her. 


APRIL. 


25 -^ 


^0 my friend, hearken to me ! Death exists not ; 
it is nothing. It cannot even be understood. 
Life is life, and it folloAvs the law of life — prog- 
ress. Yesterday you had a mother on earth; to- 
day you have an angel elsewhere. All that is 
good will survive the life of earth with increased 
power. Hence, also, the love of your mother. 
She loves you now more than ever. And you are 
responsible for your actions to her more, even, 
than before. It depends upon you, upon your 
actions, to meet her once more, to see her in an- 
other existence. You must, therefore, out of 
love and reverence for your mother, grow better 
and cause her to joy for you. Henceforth you 
must say at every act, Would my mother ap- 
prove this? Her transformation has placed a 
guardian angel in the world for you, to whom 
you must refer in all your affairs, in everything 
that pertains to you. Be strong and brave; fight 
against desperate and vulgar grief; have the tran- 
quillity of great suffering in great souls; and that 
it is what she would have.’ ” 

“ Garrone,” added the teacher, “ be strong and 
tranquil, for that is what she would have. Do you 
understand? ” 

Garrone nodded assent, while great and fast- 
flowing tears streamed over his hands, his copy- 
book, and his desk. 


CIVIC VALOR. 


253 


CIVIC VALOE. 

{Monthly Story.) 

At one o^clock we went with our schoolmaster 
to the front of the town-hall, to see the medal 
for civic valor bestowed on the lad who had saved 
one of his comrades from the Po. 

On the front terrace waved a huge tricolored 
flag. 

We entered the courtyard of the palace. 

It was already full of people. At the further 
end of it was visible a table with a red cover, and 
papers on it, and behind it a row of gilded chairs 
for the mayor and the council; the ushers of the 
municipality were there, with their under-waist- 
coats of sky-blue and their white stockings. To 
the right of the courtyard a detachment of police- 
men, who had a great many medals, was drawn 
up in line; and beside them a detachment of cus- 
tom-house officers; on the other side were the fire- 
men in festive array; and numerous soldiers not 
in line, who had come to look on, — cavalry-men, 
sharpshooters, artillery-men. Then all around 
were gentlemen, country people, and some offi- 
cers and women and boys who had assembled. 

We crowded into a corner where many scholars 
from other buildings were already collected with 
their teachers. Near us was a group of boys, be- 
tween ten and eighteen years of age, belonging 
to the common people, who were talking and 


254 


APRIL. 


laughing loudly; and we made out that they were 
all from Borgo Po, comrades or acquaintances of 
the hoy who was to receive the medal. Above, 
all the windows were thronged with the employ- 
ees of the city government; the balcony of the 
hbrary was also filled with people, who pressed 
against the balustrade; and in the one on the 
opposite side, which is over the entrance gate, 
stood a crowd of girls from the public schools, and 
many Daughters of Soldiers^ with their pretty 
blue veils. It looked like a theatre. All were 
talking merrily, glancing every now and then at 
the red table, to see whether any one had made 
his appearance. A band of music was playing 
softly at the end of the portico. The sun beat 
down on the lofty walls. It was beautiful. 

All at once every one began to clap their hands, 
from the courtyard, from the balconies, from the 
windows. 

I raised myself on tiptoe to look. 

The crowd which stood behind the red table 
had parted, and a man and woman had come for- 
ward. The man was leading a boy by the hand. 

This was the lad who had saved his comrade. 

The man was his father, a mason, dressed in 
his best. The woman, his mother, small and 
blonde, had on a black gown. The boy, also small 
and blonde, had on a gray jacket. 

At the sight of all those people, and at the 
sound of that thunder of applause, all three stood 
still, not daring to look or to move. A munici- 
pal usher pushed them along to the side of the 
table on the right. 


CIVIC VALOR. 


255 


All remained quiet for a moment, and then 
once more the applause broke out on all sides. 
The boy glanced up at the windows, and then at 
the balcony with the Daughters of Soldiers; he 
held his cap in his hand, and did not seem to un- 
derstand very thoroughly where he was. It struck 
me that he looked a little like Coretti, in the face; 
but he was redder. His father and mother kept 
their eyes fixed on the table. 

In the meantime, all the boys from Borgo Po 
who were near us were making motions to their 
comrade, to attract his attention, and hailing him 
in a low tone: ‘‘Pin! Pin! Pinot!’’ At last they 
made themselves heard. The boy glanced at 
them, and hid his smile behind his cap. 

At a certain moment the guards drew them- 
selves up to attention. The mayor entered, ac- 
companied by numerous gentlemen. The mayor, 
all white, with a big tricolored scarf, placed him- 
self beside the table, standing; all the others took 
their places behind and beside him. 

The band ceased playing; the mayor made a 
sign, and every one grew quiet. 

He began to speak. I did not understand the 
first words perfectly; but I gathered that he was 
telling the story of the boy’s feat. Then he 
raised his voice, and it rang out so clear and 
sonorous through the whole court, that I did not 
lose another word : When he saw, from the 

shore, his comrade struggling in the river, already 
overcome with the fear of death, he tore the 
clothes from his back, and hastened to his as- 
sistance, without hesitating an instant. They 


256 


APRIL. 


shouted to him, ‘You will be drowned!’ — he 
made no reply; they caught hold of him — he 
freed himself ; they called him hy name — he was 
already in the water. The river was swollen; the 
risk terrible, even for a man. But he flung him- 
self to meet death with all the strength of his 
little body and of his great heart; he reached the 
unfortunate fellow and seized him just in time, 
when he was already under water, and dragged 
him to the surface; he fought turiously with the 
waves, which strove to overwhelm him, with his 
companion who tried to cling to him; and several 
times he disappeared beneath the water, and rose 
again with a desperate effort, — obstinate, invin- 
cible in his purpose, not like a hoy who was try- 
ing to save another hoy, hut like a man, like a 
father who is struggling, to save his son, who is 
his hope and his life. In short, God did not per- 
mit so generous a prowess to be displayed in vain. 
The child swimmer tore the victim from the gi- 
gantic river, and brought him to land, and with 
the assistance of others, rendered him his first 
succor; after which he returned home quietly and 
alone, and ingenuously narrated his deed. 

“ Gentlemen, beautiful, and worthy of venera- 
tion is heroism in a man! But in a child, in 
whom there can be no prompting of ambition or 
of profit whatever; in a child, who must have all 
the more ardor in proportion as he has less 
strength; in a child, from whom we require noth- 
ing, who is bound to nothing, who already ap- 
pears to us so noble and lovable, not when he 
acts, but when he merely understands, and is 


CIVIC VALOR. 


257 


grateful for the sacrifices of others ; — in a child, 
heroism is divine! I will say nothing more, gen- 
tlemen. I do not care to deck, with superfluous 
praises, such simple grandeur. Here before you 
stands the noble and valorous rescuer. Soldiers, 
greet him as a brother; mothers, bless him like 
a son; children, remember his name, engrave on 
your minds his visage, that it may nevermore be 
erased from your memories and from your hearts. 
Approach, my boy. In the name of the king of 
Italy, I give you the medal for civic valor.^’ 

An extremely loud hurrah, uttered at the same 
moment by many voices, made the palace ring. 

The mayor took the medal from the table, and 
fastened it on the boy’s breast. Then he em- 
braced and kissed him. The mother placed one 
hand over her eyes; the father held his chin on 
his breast. 

The mayor shook hands with both; and taking 
the decree of decoration, which was bound with a 
ribbon, he handed it to the woman. 

Then he turned to the boy again, and said: 

May the memory of this day, which is such a 
glorious one for you, such a happy one for your 
father and mother, keep you all your life in the 
path of virtue and honor! Farewell!” 

The mayor withdrew, the band struck up, and 
everything seemed to be at an end, when the de- 
tachment of firemen opened, and a lad of eight 
or nine years, pushed forwards by a woman who 
instantly concealed herself, rushed towards the 
boy with the decoration, and flung himself in his 
arms. 


258 


APRIL. 


Another outburst of hurrahs and applause made 
the courtyard echo; every one had instantly un- 
derstood that this was the boy who had been saved 
from the Po, and who had come to thank his res- 
cuer. After kissing him, he clung to one arm, in 
order to accompany him out. These two, with 
the father and mother following behind, took their 
way towards the door, making a path with diffi- 
culty among the people who formed in line to 
let them pass, — policemen, hoys, soldiers, wonien^ 
all mingled together in confusion. All pressed 
forwards and raised on tiptoe to see the boy. 
Those who stood near him as he passed, touched 
his hand. When he passed before the schoolboys, 
they all waved their caps in the air. Those from 
Borgo Po made a great uproar, pulling him by 
the arms and by his jacket and shouting, Pin! 
hurrah for Pin! bravo, Pinot!’' I saw him as he 
passed very close to me. His face was all aflame 
and happy; his medal had a red, white, and green 
ribbon. His mother was crying and smiling; his 
father was twirling his moustache with one hand, 
which quivered violently, as though he had a 
fever. And from the windows and the balconies 
the people continued to lean out and applaud. 

All at once, when they were on the point of 
entering the portico, there fell from the balcony 
of the Daughters of Soldiers a veritable shower 
of pansies, of hunches of violets and daisies, which 
dropped upon the head of the boy, and of his 
father and mother, and scattered over the ground. 
Many people stooped to pick them up and hand 
them to the mother. And the hand at the fur- 


CIVIC VALOR. 


259 


ther end of the courtyard played, very, very softly, 
a most entrancing air, which seemed like a song 
by a great many silvery voices fading slowly into 
the distance on the banks of a river. 


260 


MAY. 


MAY, 


CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS. 

Friday, 5th. 

To-day I took a vacation, because I was not 
well, and my mother took me to the Institution 
for Children with the Rickets, whither she went 
to recommend a child belonging to our porter; 
but she did not allow me to go into the school. 

Did you not understand, Enrico, why I did not per- 
mit you to enter? It was in order not to place before 
the eyes of those unfortunates, there in the midst of 
the school, as though on exhibition, a strong, healthy 
boy: they have already but too many opportunities 
for making painful comparisons. What a sad thing! 
Tears rushed from my heart when I went in. There 
were sixty of them, boys and girls. Poor tortured 
bones! Poor hands, poor little shrivelled and dis- 
torted feet! Poor little deformed bodies! I found 
many charming faces, with eyes full of intelligence 
and affection. There was one little child’s face with 
the pointed nose and sharp chin of an old woman; 
but it wore a smile of celestial sweetness. Some, 
viewed from the front, are handsome, and appear to 
be without defects; but when they turn round — they 
cast a weight upon your soul. The doctor was there, 
visiting them, He set them upright on their benches 


CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS. 261 


and pulled up their little garments, to feel their 
swollen stomachs and enlarged joints; but they did 
not show the least shame, poor creatures! It was 
evident that they were children who were used to 
being undressed, examined, turned round on all sides. 
And to think that they are now in the best stage of 
their malady, when they hardly suffer at all any 
more! But who can say what they suffered during 
the first stage, while their bodies were undergoing 
the process of deformation, when with the increase 
of their infirmity, they saw affection decrease 
around them, poor children! saiw themselves left 
alone for hour after hour in a corner of the room or 
the courtyard, badly nourished, and at times scoffed 
at, or tormented for months by bandages and by 
useless orthopedic apparatus! 

Now, however, thanks to care and good food and 
gymnastic exercises, many are improving. Their 
schoolmistress makes them practise gymnastics. It 
was a pitiful sight to see them, at a certain com- 
mand, extend all those bandaged legs under the 
benches, squeezed as they were between splints, 
knotty and deformed; limbs which should have been 
covered with kisses! Some could not rise from the 
bench, but remained there, with their heads resting 
on their arms, stroking their crutches with their 
hands; others, on making the thrust with their arms, 
felt their breath fail them, and fell back on their 
seats, pale, but smiling to conceal their panting. 

Ah, Enrico! you other children do not prize your 
good health, and it seems to you so small a thing to 
be well! I thought of the strong and thriving lads, 
whom their mothers carry about in triumph, proud 


262 


MAY. 


of their beauty; and I could have clasped all those 
poor little heads, I could have pressed them to my 
heart, in despair; I could have said, had I been alone, 
“I will never stir from here again; I wish to con- 
secrate my life to you, to serve you, to be a mother to 
you all, to my last day.” 

And in the meantime, they sang; sang in peculiar, 
thin, sweet, sad voices, which penetrated the soul. 
When their teacher praised them, they looked happy; 
and as she passed among the benches, they kissed her 
hands and wrists; for they are very grateful for what 
is done for them, and very affectionate. These little 
angels have good minds, and study well, the teacher 
told me. The teacher is young and gentle, with a 
face full of kindness, but with a certain expression 
of sadness, like a reflection of the misfortunes which 
she caresses and comforts. Dear girl! Among all the 
human creatures who earn their livelihood by toil, 
there is not one who earns it more holily than you! 

Your Mother. 


SACRIFICE. 

Tuesday, 9th. 

My mother is good, and my sister Silvia is like 
her, and has a large and noble heart. Yesterday 
evening I was copying a part of the monthly story. 
From the Apennines to the Andes , — which the 
teacher has given out to us all in small portions 
to copy, because it is so long, — when Silvia en- 
tered on tiptoe, and said to me hastily, and in a 
low voice : — 

Come tp mamma with me. I heard her and 


SACRIFICE. 


263 


papa talking together this morning: some affair 
has gone wrong with papa, and he was sad; mam- 
ma was encouraging him. We are in difficulties 
— do you understand? We have no more money. 
Papa said that it would be necessary to make 
some sacrifices in order to recover himself. Now 
we must make sacrifices, too, must we not? Are 
you ready to do it? Well, I will speak to mam- 
ma, and do you agree, and promise her on your 
honor that you will do everything that I shall 
say.^^ 

So saying, she took me by the hand and led 
me to our mother, who was sewing, lost in 
thought. I sat down on one end of the sofa, 
Silvia on the other, and she immediately began : — 
Listen, mamma, I have something to say to 
you. Both of us have something to say to you.^^ 
Mamma stared at us in surprise, and Silvia 
began : — 

“^Papa has no money, has he?^’ 

What do you mean? replied mamma, turn- 
ing crimson. “ Plas he not indeed ! What do 
you know about it? Who has told you? 

“ I know it,^'’ said Silvia, resolutely. “ Well, 
then, listen, mamma; we must make some sacri- 
fices, too. You promised me a fan at the end of 
May, and Enrico was expecting his box of paints. 
We don't want an3dhing now; we don't want to 
waste a soldo; we shall be just as well pleased, 
you know." 

Mamma tried to speak; but Silvia said: ^'No; 
it must be this way. We have decided. And 
until papa has money again, we don't want any 


264 


MAY. 


fruit or anything else; broth will be enough for 
us, and we will eat bread in the morning for 
breakfast: so we shall spend less on the table, for 
we already spend too much. And we promise 
you that you will always find us perfectly con- 
tented. Is it not so, Enrico? 

1 replied that it was. 

Always as contented,^^ repeated Silvia, clos- 
ing mamma’s mouth with one hand. And if 
there are any other sacrifices to be made, either 
in the matter of clothing or anything else, we will 
make them gladly. We would even sell our pres- 
ents. I would give up all my things, and serve 
you as 5'^our maid. We will not have anything 
done out of the house any more, I will work all 
day long with you, I will do everything you wish, 

I am ready for anything ! for anything ! she ex- 
claimed, throwing her arms around my mother’s 
neck, if papa and mamma can only be saved 
further troubles, if I can only see you both once 
more at ease, and in good spirits, as in former 
days, between your Silvia and your Enrico, who 
love you so dearly, who would give their lives for 
you ! ” 

Ah! I have never seen my mother so happy as 
she was on hearing these words; she never before ' 
kissed us on the brow in that way, weeping and 
laughing, and unable to speak. Then she assured 
Silvia that she had not understood rightly; that 
we were not in the least reduced circumstances, 
as she imagined. And she thanked us a hundred 
times, and was cheerful all the evening, until my 
father came in, when she told him all about it. 


THE FIRE. 


265 


He did not open his month, poor father! But 
this morning, as we sat at the table, I felt at 
once both a great pleasure and a great sadness: 
under my napkin I found my .box of colors, and 
under hers, Silvia found her fan. 


THE FIRE. 

Thursday, 11th. 

This morning I had finished copying my share 
of the story. From the Apennines to the Andes, 
and was seeking for a theme for the original com- 
position which the teacher had assigned us to 
write, when I heard an unusual talking on the 
stairs, and shortly after two firemen entered the 
house, and asked permission of my father to in- 
spect the stoves and chimneys, because a chimney 
was on fire on the roof, and they could not tell to 
whom it belonged. 

My father said, ^^Pray do so.’^ And although 
we had no fire burning anywhere, they began to 
make the round of our apartments, and to lay 
their ears to the walls, to hear if the fire were 
roaring in the flues which run up to the other 
floors of the house. 

While they were going through the rooms, my 
father said to me, Here is the theme for your 
composition, Enrico, — the firemen. Try to 
write down what I am about' to tell you. 

“ I saw them at work two years ago, one even- 
ing, when I was coming out of the Balbo Theatre 
late at night. On entering the Via Roma, I saw 


266 


MAY. 


an unusual light, and a crowd of people collecting. 
A house was on fire. Tongues of flame and 
clouds of smoke were bursting from the windows 
and the roof; men and women appeared at the 
windows and then disappeared, uttering shrieks 
of despair. There was a dense throng in front 
of the door. The crowd was shouting : ‘ They 

will be burned alive! Help! The firemen!^ 
At that moment a carriage arrived, four firemen 
sprang out of it — the first who had reached the 
town-hall — and rushed into the house. They 
had hardly gone in when a horrible thing hap- 
pened: a woman ran to a window of the third 
story, with a scream, clutched the balcony, 
climbed down it, and remained thus clinging, al- 
most suspended in space, with her back outwards, 
bending beneath the flames, which flashed out 
from the room and almost licked her head. The 
crowd uttered a cry of horror. The firemen, who 
had been stopped on the second floor by mistake 
by the terrified lodgers, had already broken 
through a wall and into a room, when a hundred 
shouts gave them warning: — 

^ On the third floor ! On the third floor ! ’ 
They flew to the third floor. There they 
found an infernal uproar, — beams from the roof 
crashing in, corridors filled with a suffocating 
smoke. In order to reach the rooms where the 
lodgers were imprisoned, there was no other way 
left but to pass over the roof. They instantly 
sprang upon it, and a moment later something 
which resembled a black phantom appeared on 
the tiles, in the midst of the smoke. It was the 


THE FIRE. 


267 


corporal of the firemen, who had been the first 
to arrive. But in order to get from the roof to 
the small set of rooms cut otf by the fire, he was 
forced to pass over an extremely narrow space be- 
tween a dormer window and the eaves-trough. 
All the rest was in fiames, and that tiny space was 
covered with snow and ice, and there was no place 
to hold on to. 

It is impossible for him to pass ! ^ shouted the 
crowd below. 

The corporal advanced along the edge of the 
roof. All shuddered, and began to observe him 
with hated breath. He passed. A tremendous 
hurrah rose towards heaven. The corporal re- 
sumed his way, and on arriving at the point which 
was threatened, he began to break away, with 
furious blows of his axe, beams, tiles, and rafters, 
in order to open a hole through which to descend 
into the house. 

Meanwhile, the woman was hanging outside 
the window. The fire raged with increased vio- 
lence over her head; another moment, and she 
would have fallen into the street. 

“ The hole was opened. We saw the corporal 
pull off his shoulder-belt and lower himself in- 
side : the other firemen, who had arrived, followed. 

“At that instant a very lofty Porta ladder, 
which had Just arrived, was placed against the 
house, in front of the windows whence issued 
fiames, and maniacal howls. But it seemed as 
though they were too late. 

“^Ho one can be saved now!^ they shouted. 
^ The firemen are burning ! The end has come ! 
They are dead ! ^ 


268 


MAY. 


All at once the black form of the corporal 
came in sight at the window with the balcony, 
lighted up by the flames overhead. The woman 
clasped him round the neck; he caught her with 
both arms, drew her up, and laid her down inside 
the room. 

The crowd set up a shout a thousand voices 
strong, which rose above the roar of the conflagra- 
tion. 

But the others? And how were they to get 
down? The ladder which leaned against the roof 
on the front of another window was at a good dis- 
tance from them. How could they get hold of it? 

While the people were saying this to them- 
selves, one of the firemen stepped out of the win- 
dow, set his right foot on the window-sill and his 
left on the ladder, and standing thus upright in 
the air, he grasped the lodgers, one after the other, 
as the other men handed them to him from within, 
passed them on to a comrade, who had climbed 
up from the street, and who, after securing a firm 
grasp for them on the rungs, sent them down, one 
after the other, with the assistance of more fire- 
men. 

First came the woman who had clung to the 
balcony, then a baby, then another woman, then 
an old man. All were saved. After the old man, 
the fireman who had remained inside descended. 
The last to come down was the corporal who had 
been the first to hasten up. The crowd received 
them all with a hurst of applause; but when the 
last made his appearance, the vanguard of the 
rescuers, the one who had faced the abyss in ad- 


THE FIRE. 


269 


vance of the rest, the one who would have per- 
ished had it been fated that one should perish, 
the crowd saluted him like a conqueror, shouting 
and stretching out their arms, with an affectionate 
impulse of admiration and of gratitude, and in a 
few minutes his obscure name — Giuseppe Rob- 
bino — rang from a thousand throats. 

‘‘Have you understood? That is courage — 
the courage of the heart, which does not reason, 
which does not waver, which dashes blindly on, 
like a lightning flash, wherever it hears the cry of 
a dying man. One of these days I will take you 
to the exercises of the firemen, and I will point 
out to you Corporal Rohbino; for you would be 
very glad to know him, would you not? ” 

1 replied that I should. 

“ Here he is,^^ said my father. 

I turned round with a start. The two flremen, 
having completed their inspection, were crossing 
the room to the door. 

My father pointed to the smaller of the men, 
who had straps of gold braid, and said, “ Shake 
hands with Corporal Robhino.” 

The corporal stopped, smiled, and offered me 
his hand; I shook it; he made a salute and with- 
drew. 

“Do not forget it,’’ said my father; “for out 
of the thousands of hands which you will shake 
in the course of your life there will probably not 
be ten which possess the worth of his.” 


270 


MAY. 


FEOM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 

{Monthly Story.) 

Many years ago a Genoese lad of thirteen, the 
son of a workingman, went from Genoa to Amer- 
ica ail alone to seek his mother. 

She had gone two years before to Buenos Ayres, 
a city, the capital of the Argentine Eepuhlic, to 
take service in a wealthy family, in order to earn 
in a short time enough to place her family once 
more in easy circumstances, they having fallen, 
through various misfortunes, into poverty and 
debt. There are courageous women — not a few 
— who take this long voyage with this object in 
view, and who, thanks to the large wages which 
people in service receive there, return home at the 
end of a few years with several thousand lire. 
The poor mother had wept bitterly at parting 
from her children, — the one aged eighteen, the 
other, eleven; hut she had set out full of courage 
and hope. 

The voyage was pleasant : and she had no 
sooner arrived at Buenos Ayres than she found, 
through a Genoese shopkeeper, a cousin of her 
husband, who had been established there for a 
very long time, a good Argentine family, which 
gave high wages and treated her well. For a 
short time she kept up a regular correspondence 
with her family. As it had been settled between 
them, her husband addressed his letters to his 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 271 


cousin, who forwarded them to the woman, and 
the latter handed her replies to him, and he dis- 
patched them to Genoa, adding a few lines of 
his own. As she was earning eighty lire a month 
and spending nothing for herself, she sent home a 
handsome sum every three months, with which 
her husband, who was a man of honor, gradually 
paid off their most urgent debts, and thus regained 
his good reputation. In the meantime, he worked 
away and was satisfied with the state of his af- 
fairs, since he also cherished the hope that his 
wife would shortly return; for the house seemed 
empty without her, and the younger son in par- 
ticular, who was extremely attached to his mother, 
was very much depressed, and could not be recon- 
ciled to having her so far away. 

But a year had elapsed since they had parted; 
after a brief letter, in which she said that her 
health was not very good, they heard nothing 
more. They wrote twice to the cousin ; the cousin 
did not reply. They wrote to the Argentine fam- 
ily where the woman was at service ; hut it is pos- 
sible that the letter never reached them, for they 
had misspelled the name in addressing it: they 
received no answer. Fearing some misfortune, 
they wrote to the Italian Consulate at Buenos 
A3Tes to have inquiries made, and after a lapse 
of three months they received a response from 
the consul, to the effect that in spite of advertise- 
ments in the newspapers no one had presented 
herself or sent any word. And it could not have 
happened otherwise, for this reason if for no 
other: that with the idea of sparing the good 
name of her family, which she fancied she was 


272 


MAY. 


discrediting by becoming a servant, the good 
woman had not given her real name to the Argen- 
tine family. 

Several months more passed by with no news. 
The father and sons were in consternation; the 
youngest was oppressed by a melancholy which 
he could not conquer. What Wis to be done? 
To whom should they have recourse? The 
father’s first thought had been to set out, to go 
to America in search of his wife. But his work? 
Who would support his sons? And neither could 
the eldest son go, for he had just then begun to 
earn something, and he was necessary to the fam- 
ily. In this anxiety they . lived, repeating each 
day the same sad speeches, or g azing at each other 
in silence; when, one evening, Marco, the young- 
est, declared with decision, ‘‘ I am going to Amer- 
ica to look for my mother.” 

His father shook his head sorrowfully and made 
no reply. It was an affectionate thought, but an 
impossible thing. To make a journey to Amer- 
ica, which required a month, alone, at the age of 
thirteen! But the boy patiently insisted. He 
persisted that day, the day after, every day, with 
great calmness, reasoning with the good sense of 
a man. 

‘‘Others have gone, there,” he said; “and 
smaller boys than I, too. Once on board the ship, 
I shall get there like anybody else. Once arrived 
there, I have only to hunt up our cousin’s shop. 
There are plenty of Italians there who will show 
me the street. After finding our cousin, my 
mother is found; and if I do not find him, I shall 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 273 


go to the consul : I shall search out that Argentine 
family. Whatever happens, there is work for 
all there; I shall find work also; sufficient, at 
least, to earn enough to get home.^’ 

And thus little by little he almost succeeded in 
persuading his father. His father esteemed him; 
he knew that he had good judgment and courage; 
that he was inured to privations and to sacrifices; 
and that all these good qualities had acquired 
double force in his heart in consequence of the 
sacred project of finding his mother, whom he 
adored. In addition to this, the captain of a 
steamer, the friend of an acquaintance of his, hav- 
ing heard the plan mentioned, undertook to pro- 
cure a free third-class passage for the Argentine 
Kepublic. 

Finally, after a little hesitation, the father 
gave his consent. The voyage was decided on. 
They filled a sack with clothes for him, put a few 
crowns in his pocket, and gave him the address of 
the cousin; and one fine evening in April they 
saw him on hoard. 

Marco, my son,’’ his father said to him, as he 
gave him his last kiss, with tears in his eyes, on 
the plank of the steamer, which was on the point 
of starting, take courage. You have set out on 
a holy undertaking, and God will aid you.” 

Poor Marco! His heart was strong and pre- 
pared for the hardest trials of this voyage; but 
when he beheld his beautiful Genoa disappear on 
the horizon, and found himself on the open sea 
on that huge steamer thronged with emigrating 


274 


MAY. 


peasants, alone, unacquainted with any one, with 
that little bag which held his entire fortune, a 
sudden discouragement assailed him. For two 
days he remained crouching like a dog on the 
bows, hardly eating, and oppressed with a great 
desire to weep. Every kind of sad thought passed 
through his mind, and the saddest, the most ter- 
rible, was the one which was the most persistent 
in its return, — the thought that his mother was 
dead. In his broken and painful slumbers he 
constantly beheld a strange face, which surveyed 
him with an air of compassion, and whispered in 
his ear, Your mother is dead!^^ And then he 
awoke, stifling a shriek. 

Nevertheless, after passing the Straits of 
Gibraltar, at the first sight of the Atlantic Ocean 
he recovered his spirits a little, and his hope. 
But it was only a brief respite. That vast but 
always smooth sea, the increasing heat, the misery 
of all those poor people who surrounded him, the 
consciousness of his own loneliness, overwhelmed 
him once more. The empty and monotonous 
days which succeeded each other became con- 
founded in his memory, as is the case with sick 
people. It seemed to him that he had been at sea 
a year. And every morning, on waking, he felt 
surprised afresh at finding himself there alone on 
that vast watery expanse, on his way tt) America. 
The beautiful flying fish which fell on deck every 
now and then, the marvellous sunsets of the trop- 
ics, with their enormous clouds colored like flame 
and blood, and those nocturnal phosphorescences 
which make the ocean seem all on fire like a sea 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 275 


of lava, did not produce on him the effect of real 
things, but of marvels beheld in a dream. 

There were days of .had weather, during which 
he remained constantly in the cabin, where every- 
thing was rolling and crashing, in the midst of 
a terrible chorus of cries and curses, and he 
thought that his last hour had come. There were 
other days, when the sea was calm and yellowish, 
of insupportable heat, of infinite tediousness; in- 
terminable and wretched hours, during which the 
enervated passengers, stretched motionless on the 
planks, seemed all dead. And the voyage was 
endless : sea and sky, sky and sea ; to-day the same 
as yesterday, to-morrow like to-day, and so on, 
always, eternally. 

And for long hours he stood leaning on the 
bulwarks, gazing at that boundless sea in wonder, 
thinking vaguely of his mother, until his eyes 
closed and his head was drooping with sleep; and 
then again he beheld that unknown face which 
gazed upon him with an air of sympathy, and re- 
peated in his ear, Your mother is dead!^’ and 
at the sound of that voice he awoke with a start, 
to resume his dreaming with wide-open eyes, and 
to gaze at the unchanging horizon. 

The voyage lasted twenty-seven days. But the 
last days "were the best. ’The weather was fine, 
and the air cool. He had made the acquaintance 
of a good old man, a Lombard, who was going to 
America to find his son, an agriculturist in the 
vicinity of the town of Eosario; he had told him 
his whole story, and the old man kept repeating 
every little while, as he tapped him on the nape 


27G 


MAY. 


of the neck with his hand, Courage, my lad; you 
will find your mother well and happy.” 

This companionship comforted him; his sad 
presentiments were turned into joyous ones. 
Seated on the bow, beside the aged peasant, who 
was smoking his pipe, beneath the beautiful starry 
heaven, in the midst of a group of singing peas- 
ants, he imagined to himself in his own mind a 
hundred times his arrival at Buenos Ayres; he 
saw himself in a certain street ; he found the shop, 
he fiew to his cousin. “ How is my mother? 
Come, let us go at once ! Let us go at once ! ” 
They hurried on together; they ascended a stair- 
case; a door opened. And here his mute solil- 
oquy came to an end; his imagination was swal- 
lowed up in a feeling of inexpressible tenderness, 
which made him secretly pull forth a little medal 
that he wore on his neck, and murmur his prayers 
as he kissed it. 

On the twenty-seventh day after their departure 
they arrived. It was a beautiful, rosy May morn- 
ing, when the steamer cast anchor in the im- 
mense river of the Plata, near the shore along 
which stretches the vast city of Buenos Ayres, the 
capital of the Argentine Kepublic. This splen- 
did weather seemed to him to be a good omen. 
He was beside himself with joy and impatience. 
His mother was only a few miles from him! In 
a few hours more he would have seen her! He 
was in America, in the new world, and he had 
had the daring to come alone ! The whole of that 
extremely long voyage now seemed to him to have 
passed in an instant. It seemed to him that he 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 277 


had flown hither in a dream, and that he had that 
moment waked. And he was so happy, that he 
hardly experienced any surprise or distress when 
he felt in his pockets and found only one of the 
two little heaps into which he had divided his lit- 
tle treasure, in order to he the more sure of not 
losing the whole of it. He had been robbed; he 
had only a few lire left; but what mattered that 
to him, when he was near his mother? With his 
bag in his hand, he descended, in company with 
many other Italians, to the tug-boat which car- 
ried him within a short distance of the shore; 
clambered down from the tug into a boat which 
bore the name of Andrea Doria; was landed on 
the wharf; saluted his old Lombard friend, and 
directed his course, in long strides, towards the 
city. 

On arriving at the entrance of the first street, 
he stopped a man who was passing by, and begged 
him to show him in what direction he should go 
in order to reach the street of los Artes. He 
chanced to have stopped an Italian workingman. 
The latter surveyed him with curiosity, and in- 
quired if he knew how to read. The lad nodded, 

Yes.^^ 

Well, then,” said the laborer, pointing to the 
street from which he had just emerged, keep 
straight on through there, reading the names of 
all the streets on the corners; you will end by find- 
ing the one you want.” 

The boy thanked him, and turned into the 
street which opened before him. 

It was a straight and endless but narrow street. 


278 


MAY. 


bordered by low white houses, which looked like 
so many little villas, filled with people, with car- 
riages, with carts w^hich made a deafeuing noise; 
here and there floated enormous banners of vari- 
ous hues, with announcements as to the departure 
of steamers for strange cities inscribed upon them 
in large letters. At every little distance along the 
street, on the right and left, he perceived two 
other streets which ran straight away as far as he 
could see, also bordered by low white houses, filled 
with people and vehicles, and bounded at their 
extremity by the level line of the measureless 
plains of America, like the horizon at sea. The 
city appeared infinite to him; it seemed to him 
that he might wander for days or weeks, seeing 
other streets like these, on one hand and on the 
other, and that all America must be covered with 
them. He looked attentively at the names of the 
streets: strange names which cost him an effort 
to read. At every fresh street, he felt his heart 
beat, at the thought that it might be the one he 
was in search of. He stared at all the women, with 
the thought that he might meet his mother. He 
caught sight of one in front of him who made his 
blood leap; he overtook her: she was a negro. 
And quickening his pace, he walked on and on. 
On arriving at one cross-street, he read, and stood 
as though rooted to the sidewalk. It was the 
street of los Artes. He turned into it, and saw 
the number 117; his cousin’s shop was No. 175. 
He quickened his pace still more, and almost ran : 
at No. 171 he had to pause to regain his breath. 
And he said to himself, 0 my mother ! my 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 279 


mother! Is it really true that I shall see you in 
another moment?’^ He ran on; he arrived at a 
little haberdasher’s shop. This was it. He 
stepped up close to it. He saw a woman with 
gray hair and spectacles. 

What do you want, hoy?” she asked him in 
Spanish. 

“ Is not this,” said the boy, making an effort to 
utter a sound, the shop of Francesco Merelli?” 

Francesco Merelli is dead,” replied the woman 
in Italian. 

The boy felt as though he had received a blow 
on his breast. 

When did he die? ” 

^^Eh? quite a while ago,” replied the woman. 

Months ago. His affairs were in a bad state, 
and he ran away. They say he went to Bahia 
Blanca, very far from here. And he died just 
after he reached there. The shop is mine.” 

The boy turned pale. 

Then he said quickly, Merelli knew my 
mother; my mother who was at service with 
Signor Mequinez. He alone could tell me where 
she is. I have come to America to find my 
mother. Merelli sent her our letters. I must 
find my mother.” 

‘^Poor boy! '' said the woman; “I don’t know. 
I can ask the boy in the courtyard. He knew 
the young man who did Merelli’s errands. He 
may be able to tell us something.” 

She went to the end of the shop and called the 
lad, who came at once. ''Tell me,” asked the 
shop-woman, " do you remember whether Merel- 


280 


MAY. 


li^s young man went occasionally to carry letters 
to a woman in service, in the house of a country- 
man? ’’ 

To Signor Mequinez,” replied the lad; ^^yes, 
signora, sometimes he did. At the end of the 
street of los Artes” 

“Ah! thanks, signora!” cried Marco. “Tell 
me the number; don’t you know it? Send some 
one with me ; come with me without delay ; I have 
a few soldi left.” 

And he said this with so much warmth, that 
without waiting for the woman to request him, 
the hoy replied, “ Come,” and at once set out at a 
rapid pace. 

They went almost at a run, without saying a 
word, to the end of the extremely long street, 
made their way into the entrance of a little white 
house, and halted in front of a handsome iron 
gate, through which they could see a small yard, 
filled with vases of flowers. Marco gave a tug 
at the bell. 

A young lady made her appearance. 

“ The Mequinez family live here, do they not? ” 
asked the lad anxiously. 

“ They did live here,” replied the young lady, 
pronouncing her Italian in Spanish fashion. 
“ Now we, the Zehallos, live here.” 

“ And where have the Mequinez family gone ? ” 
asked Marco, his heart throbbing. 

“ They have gone to Cordova.” 

“ Cordova ! ” exclaimed Marco. “ Where is 
Cordova? And the person whom they had in 
their service? The woman, my mother! Their 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 281 


servant was my mother! Have they taken my 
mother away, too ? ” 

The young lady looked at him and said : I 

do not know. Perhaps my father may know, for 
he knew them when they went away. Wait a 
moment.” 

She ran away, and soon returned with her 
father, a tall gentleman, with a gray beard. He 
looked intently for a minute at this appealing 
type of a little Genoese sailor, with his golden 
hair and his aquiline nose, and asked him in 
broken Italian, Is your mother a Genoese? ” 

Marco replied that she was. 

Well, then, the Genoese maid went with 
them; that I know for certain.” 

‘^And where have they gone?” 

To Cordova, a city.” 

The hoy gave vent to a sigh; then he said re- 
signedly, Then I will go to Cordova.” 

Ah, poor child ! ” exclaimed the gentleman in 
Spanish ; “ poor hoy 1 Cordova is hundreds of miles 
from here.” 

Marco turned as white as a corpse, and clung 
with one hand to the railings. 

‘‘^Let us see, let us see,” said the gentleman, 
moved to pity, and opening the door; come in- 
side a moment; let us see if anything can he done.” 
He sat down, gave the boy a seat, and made him 
tell his story, listened to it very attentively, medi- 
tated a little, then said resolutely, You have no 
money, have you?” 

I still have — a little,” answered Marco. 

The gentleman reflected for five minutes more; 


282 


MAY. 


then seated himself at a desk, wrote a letter, 
sealed it, and handing it to the boy, he said to 
him: — 

Listen to me, little Italian. Take this letter 
to Boca. That is a little city which is half Geno- 
ese, and lies two hours’ journey from here. Any 
one will be able to show you the road. Go there 
and find the gentleman to whom this letter is ad- 
dressed, and whom every one knows. Carry the 
letter to him. He will send you off to the town 
of Eosario to-morrow, and will recommend you to 
some one there, who will think out a way of en- 
abling you to pursue your journey to Cordova, 
where you will find the Mequinez family and your 
mother. In the meanwhile, take this.” And he 
placed in his hand a few lire. Go, and keep up 
your courage; you will find fellow-countrymen of 
yours in every direction, and you will not be for- 
saken. Farewell ! ” 

The boy said, Thank you,” without finding 
any other words, went out with his bag, and hav- 
ing taken leave of his little guide, he set out slowly 
and sadly in the direction of Boca, filled with 
amazement at the great and noisy town. 

Everything that happened to him from that 
moment until the evening of that day ever after- 
wards lingered in his memory in a confused and 
uncertain form, like the wild vagaries of a person 
in a fever, so weary was he, so troubled, so de- 
spondent. And at nightfull on the following day, 
after having slept over night in a poor little 
chamber in a house in Boca, beside a harbor porter, 
after having passed nearly the whole of that day 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 2S3 


seated on a pile of beams, and, as in delirium, in 
sight of thousands of ships and boats and tugs, he 
found himself on the poop of a large sailing vessel, 
loaded with fruit, which was setting out for the 
town of Eosario, and was managed by three robust 
Genoese, who were bronzed by the sun; and their 
voices and the dialect which they spoke put a little 
comfort into his heart once more. 

The voyage lasted three days and four nights, 
and it was a continual amazement to the little 
traveller. Three days and four nights on that 
wonderful river Parana, in comparison with which 
our great Po is but a rivulet; and the length of 
Italy quadrupled does not equal that of its course. 
The barge advanced slowly against this im- 
measurable mass of water. It threaded its way 
among long islands, once the haunts of serpents 
and tigers, covered with orange-trees and willows, 
like floating coppices. Now they passed through 
narrow canals, from which it seemed as though 
they could never issue forth; now they sailed out 
on vast expanses of water, having the aspect of 
great tranquil lakes; then among islands again, 
through the intricate channels of an archipelago, 
amid enormous masses of vegetation. A profound 
silence reigned. For long stretches the shores and 
vast, solitary waters produced the impression of an 
unknown stream, upon which this poor little sail 
was the first in all the world to venture itself. 

The further they advanced, the more this 
monstrous river dismayed him. He imagined that 
his mother was at its source, and that their naviga- 
tion must last for years. Twice a day he ate a 


284 


MAY. 


little bread and salted meat with the boatmen, 
who, perceiving that he was sad, never addressed 
a word to him. At night he slept on deck and 
woke every little while with a start, astounded by 
the limpid light of the moon, which silvered the 
immense expanse of water and the distant shores; 
and then his heart sank within him. “ Cordova ! ” 
He repeated that name, “ Cordova ! like the name 
of one of those mysterious cities of which he had 
heard in fables. But then he thought, ‘^My mother 
passed this spot ; she saw these islands, these 
shores;^’ and then these places upon which the 
glance of his mother had fallen no longer seemed 
strange and solitary to him. 

At night one of the boatmen sang. That voice 
reminded him of his mother’s songs, when she 
had lulled him to sleep as a little child. On the 
last night, when he heard that song, he sobbed. 
The boatman interrupted his song. Then he cried, 
“ Courage, courage, my son ! What the deuce ! A 
Genoese crying because he is far from home ! The 
Genoese go round the world, gallantly and tri- 
umphantly ! ” 

And at these words he shook himself, he heard 
the voice of the Genoese blood, and he raised his 
head aloft with pride, dashing his fist down on the 
rudder. Yes,” he said to himself; and if I 
am also obliged to travel for years and years to 
come, all over the world, and to traverse hundreds 
of miles on foot, I will go on until I find my 
mother, were I to arrive in a dying condition, and 
fall dead at her feet! If only I can see her once 
again ! Courage ! ” And in this frame of mind 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 285 

he arrived at daybreak, on a cool and rosy morn- 
ing, in front of the city of Rosario, sitnated on the 
high bank of the Parana, where the flags and yards 
of a hundred vessels of every land were mirrored 
in the waves. 

Shortly after landing, he went to the town, hag 
in hand, to seek the Argentine gentleman for 
whom his protector in Boca had intrusted him 
with a visiting-card, with a few words of recom- 
mendation. On entering Rosario, it seemed to him 
that he was coming into a city with which he was 
already familiar. There were the straight, end- 
less streets, bordered with low white houses, 
traversed in all directions above the roofs by great 
bundles of telegraph and telephone wires, which 
looked like enormous spiders’ webs; and a great 
confusion of people, of horses, and of vehicles. 
His head grew confused; he almost thought that 
he had got back to Buenos Ayres, and must hunt 
up his cousin once more. He wandered about for 
nearly an hour, making one turn after another, 
and seeming always to come back to the same 
street; and after much inquiring, he found the 
house of his new protector. He pulled the bell. 
There came to the door a big, light-haired, gruff 
man, who had the air of a steward, and who de- 
manded awkwardly, with a foreign accent : — 
What do you want?” 

The boy mentioned the name of his patron. 
The master has gone away,” replied the 
steward; he set out yesterday afternoon for 
Buenos Ayres, with his whole family.”' 

The boy was speechless a moment. Then he 


286 


MAY. 


stammered, But I — 1 have no one here ! I am 
alone ! ” and he offered the card. 

The steward took it, read it, and said surlily: 

I don’t know what to do for you. Iffl give it to 
him when he returns a month hence.” 

But I, I am alone ; I am in need ! ” exclaimed 
the lad, in a supplicating voice. 

‘^Eh? come now,” said the other; ‘‘just as 
though there were not a plenty of your sort from 
your country in Eosario! Be off, and do your 
begging in Italy ! ” And he slammed the door in 
his face. 

The boy stood there as though he had been 
turned to stone. 

Then he picked up his bag again slowly, and 
went out, his heart torn with anguish, his mind 
in a whirl, assailed all at once by a thousand 
anxious thoughts. What was to be done? Where 
was he to go? From Eosario to Cordova was a 
day’s journey, by rail. He had only a few lire 
left. After subtracting what he should be obliged 
to spend that day, he would have next to nothing 
left. Where was he to find the money to pay his 
fare? He could work — but how? To whom 
should he apply for work? Ask alms? Ah, no! 
To be repulsed, insulted, humiliated, as he had 
been a little while ago? Ho; never, never more — 
rather would he die ! And at this idea, and at the 
sight of the very long street which was lost in the 
distance of the boundless plain, he felt his courage 
desert him once more, flung his bag on the side- 
walk, sat down with his back against the wall, and 
bent his head between his hands, in an attitude of 
despair. 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 287 


People jostled him with their feet as they 
passed; the vehicles filled the road with noise; 
several boys stopped to look at him. He re- 
mained thus for a while. Then he was startled by 
a voice saying to him in a mixture of Italian and 
Lombard dialect, What is the matter, little 
boy?^’ 

He raised his face at these words, and instantly 
sprang to his feet, uttering an exclamation of 
wonder; You here!^^ 

It was the old Lombard peasant with whom he 
had struck up a friendship during the voyage. 

The amazement of the peasant was no less than 
his own; but the boy did not leave him time to 
question him. He rapidly told his story conclud- 
ing: 

“ How I am without a soldo. I must go to 
work. Find me work, that I may get together a 
few lire. I will do anything; I will carry rubbish, 
I will sweep the streets; I can run on errands, or 
even work in the country; I am content to live on 
black bread; but only let it be so that I may set 
out quickly, that I may find my mother once more. 
Do me this charity, and find me work, find me 
work, for the love of God, for I can do no more ! 

The deuce you say ! said the peasant, look- 
ing about him, and scratching his chin. What a 
story is this ! To work, to work ! — that is soon 
said. Let us look about a little. Is there no way 
of finding thirty lire among so many fellow- 
countrymen? ’’ 

The boy looked at him, consoled by a ray of 
hope. 

Come with nie,^’ said the peasant. 


288 


MAY. 


Where? asked the lad, gathering up his bag 
again. 

“ Come with me.^^ 

The peasant started on; Marco followed him. 
They traversed a long stretch of street together 
without speaking. The peasant halted at the door 
of an inn which had for its sign a star, and an 
inscription beneath. The Star of Italy. He thrust 
his face in, and turning to the boy, he said cheer- 
fully, We have arrived at just the right 
moment.” 

They entered a large room, where there were 
numerous tables, and many men seated, drinking 
and talking loudly. The old Lombard approached 
the first table, and from the manner in which he 
saluted the six guests who were gathered around 
it, it was evident that he had been in their com- 
pany until a short time previously. They were 
red in the face, and were clinking their glasses, 
and vociferating and laughing. 

Comrades,^’ said the Lombard, without any 
preface, remaining on his feet, and presenting 
Marco, here is a poor lad, our fellow-country- 
man, who has come alone from Genoa to Buenos 
Ayres to seek his mother. At Buenos Ayres they 
told him, ^ She is not here; she is in Cordova.^ 
He came in a bark to Rosario, three days and 
three nights on the way, with a couple of lines of 
recommendation. He presents the card; they 
make an ugly face at him : he hasn’t a centesimo to 
bless himself with. He is here alone and in 
despair. He is a lad full of heart. Let us see a 
bit. Can’t we find enough to pay for his ticket to 


PROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 289 


go to Cordova in search of his mother? Are we 
to leave him here like a dog? ” 

“Never in the world, by Heavens! That shall 
never be said 1 they all shouted at once, ham- 
mering on the table with their fists. “A fellow- 
countryman of ours! Come hither, little fellow! 
We are emigrants! See what a handsome young 
rogue ! Out with your coppers, comrades ! Bravo ! 
Come along! He has pluck! Drink a sup, com- 
patriot! We’ll send you to your mother; never 
fear ! ” 

And one pinched his cheek, another slapped him 
on the shoulder, a third relieved him of his bag; 
other emigrants rose from the neighboring tables, 
and gathered about; the boy’s story made the 
round of the inn; three Argentine guests hurried 
in from the adjoining room; and in less than ten 
minutes the Lombard peasant, who was passing 
round the hat, had collected forty-two lire. 

“ Do you see,” he then said, turning to the boy, 
“ how fast things are done in America? ” 

“ Drink ! ” cried another to him, offering him a 
glass of wine ; “ to the health of your mother ! ” 
All raised their glasses, and Marco repeated, 
“ To the health of my — ” but a sob of joy 
choked him, and, setting the glass on the table, 
he flung himself on the old man’s neck. 

At daybreak on the following morning he set out 
for Cordova, ardent and smiling, filled with 
thoughts of happiness. But there is no cheerful- 
ness that rules for long in the face of certain 
sinister aspects of nature. The weather was close 
and dull; the train, which was nearly empty, ran 


200 


MAY. 


through an immense j^lain, destitute of every sign 
of habitation. He found himself alone in a very 
long car, which resembled those on trains for the 
wounded. He gazed to the right, he gazed to the 
left, and he saw nothing but an endless waste, 
strewn with tiny, deformed trees, with contorted 
trunks and branches, in attitudes such as were 
never seen before, almost of wrath and anguish, 
and a sparse and melancholy vegetation, which 
gave to the plain the aspect of a ruined cemetery. 

He dozed for half an hour; then resumed his 
survey: the spectacle was still the same. The 
railway stations were deserted, like the dwellings 
of hermits. When the train stopped not a sound 
was heard; it seemed to him that he was alone in 
a lost train, abandoned in the middle of a desert. 
It seemed to him as though each station must be 
the last, and that he should then enter the 
mysterious regions of the savages. An icy breeze 
nipped his face. On embarking at Genoa, towards 
the end of April, it had not occurred to him that 
he should find winter in America, and he was 
dressed for summer. 

After several hours of this he began to suffer 
from cold, and in connection with the cold, from 
the fatigue of the days he had recently passed 
through, filled as they had been with violent 
emotions, and from sleepless and harassing nights. 
He fell asleep, slept a long time, and awoke be- 
numbed. He felt ill. Then a vague terror of 
falling ill, of dying on the journey, seized upon 
him; a fear of being thrown out there, in the 
middle of that desolate prairie, where his body 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 291 

would be torn in pieces by dogs and birds of prey, 
like the corpses of horses and cows which he had 
caught sight of every now and then beside the 
track, and from which he had turned aside his 
eyes in disgust. In this state of anxious illness, 
in the midst of that dark silence of nature, his 
imagination grew excited, and looked on the dark 
side of things. 

Was he quite sure, after all, that he should find 
his mother at Cordova? And what if she had not 
gone there? What if that gentleman in the Via 
del los Artes had made a mistake? And what if 
she were dead? Thus meditating, he fell asleep 
again, and dreamed that he was in Cordova, and 
it was night, and that he heard cries from all the 
doors and all the windows : She is not here ! 

She is not here ! She is not here ! This roused 
him with a start, in terror, and he saw at the 
other end of the car three bearded men enveloped 
in shawls of various colors who were staring at 
him and talking together in a low tone; and the 
suspicion flashed across him that they were assas- 
sins, and that they wanted to kill him for the sake 
of stealing his bag. Fear was added to his con- 
sciousness of illness and to the cold; his fancy, 
already upset, became unbalanced, distorted. 

The three men kept on staring at him; one of 
them moved towards him. Then his reason wan- 
dered, and rushing towards him with arms wide 
open, he shrieked, have nothing; I am a poor 
boy; I have com- from Italy; I am in search of 
my mother ; I am alone : do not do me any harm ! 

They instantly understood the situation; they 


292 


MAY. 


took pity on him, petted and soothed him, speak- 
ing to him many words which he did not hear nor 
comprehend. And seeing that his teeth were 
chattering with cold, they wrapped one of their 
shawls around him, and made him sit down again, 
so that he might go to sleep. And he did fall 
asleep once more, as night was falling. When 
they aroused him, he was at Cordova. 

Ah, what a deep breath he drew, and with what 
impetuosity he flew from the car! He inquired 
of one of the station employees where the house 
of the engineer Mequinez was situated. The latter 
mentioned the name of a church; it stood beside 
the church. The boy hastened away. V 

It was night. He entered the city, and it 
seemed to him that he was entering Eosario once 
more; that he again beheld those straight streets, 
flanked with little white houses, and intersected 
by other very long and straight streets. But there 
were very few people, and under the light of the 
rare street lanterns, he encountered strange faces 
of a hue unknown to him, between black and 
greenish; and raising his head from time to time, 
he saw churches of bizarre architecture outlined 
black and vast against the sky. The city was dark 
and silent, but after having traversed that im- 
mense desert, it appeared lively to him. He in- 
quired his way of a priest, speedily found the 
church and the house, pulled the bell with one 
trembling hand, and pressed the other on his 
breast to repress the beating of his heart, which 
was leaping into his throat. 

An old woman, with a light in her hand, opened 
the door. 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 293 



The boy could notl|fe|k 
Whom do you waBIpf 


►nee. 

landed the dame in 


Spanish. * 

“ The engineer Mequinez/^ replied Marco. 

The old woman made a motion to cross her arms 
on her breast, and replied, with a shake of the 
head : “ So you, too, have dealings with the engi- 
neer Mequinez! It strikes me that it is time to 
stop this. We have been worried for the last three 
months. It is not enough that the newspapers 
have said it. We shall have to have it printed on 
the corner of the street, that Signor Mequinez has 
gone to live at Tucuman ! ” 

The boy made a gesture of despair. Then he 
gave way to an outburst of passion. 

So there is a curse upon me ! I am doomed 
to die on the road, without having found my 
mother! I shall 2ro mad! I shall kill myself! 
My God! what is the name of that country? Where 
is it? At what distance is it situated? 

Eh, poor boy,^’ replied the old woman, touched 
with pity ; “ a mere trifle ! We are four or five 
hundred miles from there, at least.” 

The boy covered his face with his hands; then 
he asked with a sob, ^^And now what am I to do ! ” 
^^What am I to say to you, my poor child?” 
responded the dame : I don’t know.” 

But suddenly an idea struck her, and she added 
hastily : Listen, now that I think of it. There 
is one thing that you can do. Go down this street, 
to the right, and at the third house you will find 
a courtyard; there you will find a capataz, a 
trader, who is setting out to-morrow for Tucu- 
man, with his wagons and his oxen, Go and see 


294 


MAY. 


if he will take you, and offer him your services; 
perhaps he will give you a place on his wagons: 
go at once.” 

The lad grasped his bag, thanked her as he ran, 
and two minutes later found himself in a vast 
courtyard, lighted by lanterns, where a number of 
men were engaged in loading sacks of grain on 
certain enormous carts which resembled the 
movable houses of mountebanks, with rounded 
tops, and very tall wheels. A tall man with 
moustaches, enveloped in a sort of mantle of black 
and white check, and with big boots, was directing 
the work. 

The lad approached this man, and timidly prof- 
fered his request, saying that he had come from 
Italy, and that he was in search of his mother. 

The capataz, which signifies the head (the head 
conductor of this convoy of wagons), surveyed him 
from head to foot with a keen glance, and replied 
drily, “ I have no place.” 

I have fifteen lire,” answered the boy in a 
supplicating tone ; I will give you my fifteen lire. 
I will work on the journey; I will fetch the water 
and fodder for the animals; I will do anything. 
A little bread will suffice for me. Make a place 
for me, signor.” 

The capataz looked him over again, and replied 
with a better grace, There is no room ; besides, 
we are not going to Tucuman; we are going to 
another town, Santiago delF Estero. We should 
have to leave you at a certain point, and you 
would still have a long way to go on foot.” 

Ah, I would make twice as long a journey! ” 


PROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 295 


exclaimed Marco ; I can walk ; do not worry 
about that; I shall get there by some means or 
other: make a little room for me, signor, out of 
charity; for pity’s sake, do not leave me here 
alone ! ” 

Beware; it is a journey of twenty days.” 

It matters nothing to me.” 

It is a hard journey.” 

I will endure everything.” 

You will have to travel alone.” 

“ I fear nothing, if I can only find my mother. 
Have compassion ! ” 

The capataz drew his face close to a lantern, 
and scrutinized him. Then he said, Very well.” 

The lad kissed his hand. 

You shall sleep in one of the wagons to-night,” 
added the capatas, as he quitted him ; to-morrow 
morning, at four o’clock, I will wake you. Good 
night.” 

At four o’clock in the morning, by the light of 
the stars, the long string of wagons was set in 
motion with a great noise ; each cart was drawn by 
six oxen, and all were followed by a great number 
of spare animals for a change. 

The boy, who had been awakened and placed in 
one of the carts, on the sacks, instantly fell again 
into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the convoy 
had halted in a solitary spot, full in the sun, and 
all the men — the peones — were seated round a 
quarter of calf, which was roasting in the open 
air, beside a large fire, that flickered in the 
wind. They all ate together, took a nap, and 
then set out again; and thus the journey con- 


296 


MAY. 


tinned, regulated like a march of soldiers. Every 
morning they set out on the road at five o’clock, 
halted at nine, set out again at five o’clock in the 
evening, and halted again at ten. The peones 
rode on horseback, and prodded the oxen with 
long goads. The hoy lighted the fire for the roast- 
ing, gave the beasts their fodder, polished up the 
lanterns, and brought water for drinking. 

The landscape passed before him like an in- 
distinct vision: vast groves of little brown trees; 
villages 'Consisting of a few scattered houses, with 
red and hattlemented fagades; very vast tracts, 
possibly the ancient beds of great salt lakes, which 
gleamed white with salt as far as the eye could 
reach; and on every hand, and always, the prairie, 
solitude, silence. On very rare occasions they 
met two or three travellers on horseback, followed 
by a herd of picked horses, who passed them at a 
gallop, like a whirlwind. The days were all alike, 
as at sea, lengthy and wearisome ; but the weather 
was fine. 

But the peones became more and more exacting 
every day, as though the lad were their bond 
slave; some of them treated him brutally, and 
threatened him; all forced him to serve them 
without mercy. They made him carry great 
bundles of forage; they sent him to get water at 
long distances; and he, broken with fatigue, could 
not even sleep at night, continually tossed about 
as he was by the violent jolts of the wagon, and 
the deafening groaning of the wheels and wooden 
axles. In addition to this, the wind having risen, 
a fine, reddish, greasy dust, which enveloped 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 297 


everything, penetrated the wagon, made its way 
under the covers, filled his eyes and mouth, robbed 
him of sight and breath, constantly, oppressively, 
insupportably. 

Worn out with toil and lack of sleep, reduced 
to rags and dirt, reproached and ill treated from 
morning till night, the poor boy grew every day 
more dejected, and would have lost heart entirely 
if the capataz had not addressed a kind word to 
him now and then. He often wept, unseen, in a 
corner of the wagon, with his face against his bag, 
which no longer contained anything but rags. 
Every morning he rose weaker and more dis- 
couraged, and as he looked out over the country, 
and beheld always the same boundless and im- 
placable plain, like a terrestrial ocean, he said to 
himself : ^^Ah, I shall not hold out until to-night ! 
I shall not hold out until to-night ! To-day I shall 
die on the road ! ” 

And his toil increased, his ill treatment was re- 
doubled. One morning, in the absence of the 
capataz, one of the men struck him, because he 
had delayed in fetching the water. And then they 
all began to take turns at it, when they gave him 
an order, dealing him a kick, saying : Take 

that, you vagabond ! Carry that to your mother ! ” 

His heart was breaking. He fell ill; for three 
days he remained in the wagon, with a coverlet 
over him, fighting a fever, and seeing no one ex- 
cept the capataz, who came to give him his drink 
and feel his pulse. And then he believed that he 
was lost, and invoked his mother in despair, calling 
her a hundred times by name: ^^0 my mother! 


298 


MAY. 


my mother! Help me! Come to me, for I am 
dying! Oh, my poor mother, I shall never see 
you again! My poor mother, who will find me 
dead beside the way ! ” 

And he folded his hands over his bosom and 
prayed. Then he grew better, thanks to the care 
of the capataZj and recovered; but with his re- 
covery arrived the most terrible day of his journey, 
the day on which he was to be left to his own 
devices. They had been on the way for more than 
two weeks; when they arrived at the point where 
the road to Tucuman parted from that which 
leads to Santiago delF Estero, the capatas told 
him that they must separate. He gave him some 
instructions with regard to the road, tied his bag 
on his shoulders in a manner which would not 
annoy him as he walked, and, breaking off short, 
as though he feared that he should be affected, he 
bade him farewell. The boy had barely time to 
kiss him on one arm. The other men, too, who 
had treated him so harshly, seemed to feel a little 
pity at the sight of him left thus alone, and they 
made signs of farewell to him as they moved away. 
And he returned the salute with his hand, stood 
watching the convoy until it was lost to sight in 
the red dust of the plain, and then set out sadly 
on his road. 

One thing, on the other hand, comforted him a 
little from the first.. After all those days of travel 
across that endless plain, which was forever the 
same, he saw before him a chain of mountains 
very high and blue, with white summits, which 
reminded him of the Alps, and gave him the feel- 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 299 


ing of having drawn near to his own country once 
more. They were the Andes, the dorsal spine of 
the American continent, that immense chain 
which extends from Tierra del Fuego to the 
glacial sea of the Arctic pole, through a hundred 
and ten degrees of latitude. And he was also com- 
forted by the fact that the air seemed to him to 
grow constantly warmer. This happened, because, 
in ascending towards the north, he was slowly ap- 
proaching the tropics. At great distances apart 
there were tiny groups of houses with a petty 
shop, where he bought something to eat. He met 
men on horseback; every now and then he saw 
women and children seated on the ground, mo- 
^ tionless and grave, with faces entirely new to him, 
of an earthen hue, with oblique eyes and promi- 
nent cheek-bones, who looked at him fixedly, fol- 
lowing him with their gaze, and turning their 
heads slowly like automatons. They were Indians. 

The first day he walked as long as his strength 
would permit, and slept under a tree. On the 
second day he made considerably less progress, 
and with less spirit. His shoes were tattered, his 
feet wounded, his stomach weakened by bad food. 
Towards evening he began to be alarmed. He 
had heard, in Italy, that in this land there were 
serpents ; he fancied that he heard them crawling ; 
he halted, then set out on a run, and with cold 
chills in all his bones. At times he was seized 
with a profound pity for himself, and he wept 
silently as he walked. Then he thought, Oh 
how much my mother would suffer if she knew 
that I am afraid ! and this thought restored his 


300 


MAY. 


courage. Then, in order to distract his thoughts 
from fear, he thought of her; he recalled to mind 
her words when she had set out from Genoa, and 
the movement with which she had arranged the 
coverlet beneath his chin when he was in bed, and 
when he was a baby; for every time that she took 
him in her arms, she said to him, “ Stay here a 
little while with me ; ’’ and thus she remained for 
a long time, with her head resting on his, think- 
ing, thinking. 

And he said to himself: Shall I see you 

again, dear mother? Shall I arrive at the end of 
my journey, my mother? And he walked on 
and on, among strange trees, vast plantations of 
sugar-cane, and fields without end, always with 
those blue mountains in front of him, which cut 
the sky with their exceedingly lofty crests. Four 
days, five days — a week, passed. His strength was 
rapidly declining, his feet were bleeding. Finally, 
one evening at sunset, they said to him: — 
Tucuman is fifty miles from here.^’ 

He uttered a cry of joy, and hastened his steps, 
as though he had, in that moment, regained all 
his lost vigor. But it was a brief illusion. His 
forces suddenly abandoned him, and he fell upon 
the brink of a ditch, exhausted. But his heart 
was beating with content. The heaven, thickly 
sown with the most brilliant stars, had never 
seemed so beautiful to him. He contemplated it, 
as he lay stretched out on the grass to sleep, and 
thought that, perhaps, at that very moment, his 
mother was gazing at him. And he said : — 

0 my mother, where are you? What are you 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 301 


doing at this moment? Do you think of your 
son? Do you think of your Marco, who is so 
near to you? ” 

Poor Marco! If he could have seen in what a 
case his mother was at that moment, he would 
have made a superhuman effort to proceed on his 
way, and to reach her a few hours earlier. She 
was ill in bed, in a ground-floor room of a lordly 
mansion, where dwelt the entire Mequinez family. 
The latter had become very fond of her, and had 
helped her a great deal. The poor woman had 
already been ailing when the engineer Mequinez 
had been obliged unexpectedly to set out from 
Buenos Ayres, and she had not benefited at all by 
the fine air of Cordova. But then, the fact that 
she had received no response to her letters from 
her husband, nor from her cousin, the presenti- 
ment, always lively, of some great misfortune, the 
continual anxiety in which she had lived, between 
the parting and staying, expecting every day some 
bad news, had caused her to grow worse 
rapidly. 

Finally, a very serious malady had declared it- 
self, — a strangulated internal rupture. She had 
not risen from her bed for a fortnight. A surgical 
operation was necessary to save her life. And at 
precisely the moment when Marco was apostrophiz- 
ing her, the master and mistress of the house were 
standing beside her bed, arguing with her, with 
great gentleness, to persuade her to allow herself 
to be operated on, and she was persisting in her 
refusal, and weeping. A good physician of Tu- 
cuman had come in vain a week before. 


302 


MAY. 


No, my dear master/^ she said; do not count 
upon it; I have not the strength to resist; I should 
die under the surgeon’s knife. It is better to 
allow me to die thus. I no longer cling to life. 
All is at an end for me. It is better to die before 
learning what has happened to my family.” 

And her master and mistress opposed her, and 
said that she must take courage, that she would 
receive a reply to the last letters, which had been 
sent directly to Genoa; that she must allow the 
operation to be performed; that it must be done 
for the sake of her family. But this suggestion 
of her children only aggravated her profound dis- 
couragement, which had for a long time pros- 
trated her, with increasing anguish. At these 
words she burst into tears. 

“ 0 my sons ! my sons ! ” she exclaimed, wring- 
ing her hands ; perhaps they are no longer alive ! 
It is better that I should die also. I thank you, 
my good master and mistress; I thank you from 
my heart. But it is better that I should die. At 
all events, I am certain that I should not be cured 
by this operation. I thank you for all your care, 
my good master and mistress. It is useless for the 
doctor to come again after to-morrow. I wish to 
die. It is my fate to die here. I have decided.” 

Then they began again to console her, and to 
repeat, Don’t say that,” and to take her hand 
and beseech her. 

But she closed her eyes in exhaustion, and 
fell into a doze, so that she appeared to be dead. 
And her master and mistress remained there a 
little while, by the faint light of a taper, watching 
with great compassion that admirable mother. 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 303 


who, for the sake of saving her family, had come 
to die six thousand miles from her country, to 
die after having toiled so hard, poor woman! 
and she was so honest, so good, so unfortu- 
nate. 

Early on the morning of the following day, 
Marco, bent and limping, with his bag on his 
back, entered the city of Tucuman, one of the 
youngest and most flourishing towns of the 
Argentine Eepublic. It seemed to him that he 
again beheld Cordova, Rosario, Buenos Ayres: 
there were the same straight and extremely long 
streets, the same low white houses, but on every, 
hand there was a new and magniflcent vegetation, 
a perfumed air, a marvellous light, a sky limpid 
and profound, such as he had never seen even in 
Italy. As he advanced through the streets, he ex- 
perienced once more the feverish agitation which 
had seized on him at Buenos Ayres; he stared at 
the windows and doors of all the houses ; he stared 
at alLthe women who passed him, with an anxious 
hope that he might meet his mother; he would 
have liked to question every one, but did not dare 
to stop any one. All the people who were stand- 
ing at their doors turned to gaze after the poor, 
tattered, dusty lad, who showed that he had come 
from afar. And he was seeking, among all these 
people, a countenance which should inspire him 
with confldence, in order to direct to its owner 
that tremendous query, when his eyes fell upon 
the sign of an inn upon which was inscribed an 
Italian name. Inside were a man with spectacles, 
and two women. He approached the door slowly, 


304 


MAY. 


and summoning up a resolute spirit, he in- 
quired : — 

Can you tell me, signor, where the family 
Mequinez lives?” 

“The engineer Mequinez?” asked the inn- 
keeper in his turn. 

“ The engineer Mequinez,” replied the lad in a 
faint voice. 

“ The Mequinez family is not in Tucuman,” 
replied the innkeeper. 

A cry of desperate pain, like that of one who 
has been stabbed, formed an echo to these words. 

The innkeeper and the women rose, and some 
neighbors ran up. 

“ What’s the matter? what ails you, my boy? ” 
said the innkeeper, drawing him into the shop and 
making him sit down. There’s no reason for 
despairing ! The Mequinez family is not here, but 
at a little distance off, a few hours from Tucu- 
man.” 

“Where? where?” shrieked Marco, springing 
up like one restored to life. 

“ Fifteen miles from here,” continued the man, 
“ on the river, at Saladillo, in a place where a big 
sugar factory is being built, and a cluster of 
houses. Signor Mequinez’s house is there; every 
one knows it : you can reach it in a few hours.” 

“ I was there a month ago,” said a youth, who 
had hastened up at the cry. 

Marco stared at him with wide-open eyes, and 
asked him hastily, turning pale as he did so, “ Did 
you see the servant of Signor Mequinez — the 
Italian? ” 

“The Genoese? Yes; I saw her.” 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 305 


Marco burst into a convulsive sob, which was 
half a laugh and half a sob. Then, with an im- 
pulse of violent resolution : Which way am I to 

go? quick, the road! I shall set out instantly; 
show me the way I ” 

But it is a day’s march,” they all told him, in 
one breath. “You are weary; you should rest; 
you can set out to-morrow.” 

“ Impossible ! impossible ! ” replied the lad. 
“ Tell me the way ; I shall not wait another 
moment; I shall set out at once, were I to die on 
the roadl” 

On perceiving him so inflexible, they no longer 
opposed him. “ May God accompany you ! ” they 
said to him. - “ Look out for the path through the 
forest. A fair journey to you, little Italian! ” A 
man went with him outside of the town, pointed 
out to him the road, gave him some counsel, and 
stood still to watch him start. At the end of a 
few minutes, the lad disappeared, limping, with 
his bag on his shoulders, behind the thick trees 
which lined the road. 

That night was a dreadful one for the poor sick 
woman. She suffered cruel pain, which wrung 
from her shrieks that were enough to burst her 
veins, and rendered her delirious at times. The 
women waited on her. She lost her head. Her 
mistress ran in, from time to time, in affright. 
All began to fear that, even if she had decided to 
allow herself to be operated on, the doctor, who 
was not to come until the next day, would have 
arrived too late. During the moments when she 
was not raving, however, it was evident that her 


306 


MAY. 


most terrible torture arose not from her bodily 
pains, but from the thought of her distant family. 
Emaciated, wasted away, with changed visage, she 
thrust her hands through her hair, with a gesture 
of desperation, and shrieked : — 

‘^My God! My God! To die so far away, to 
die without seeing them again ! My poor children, 
who will be left without a mother, my poor little 
creatures, my poor darlings! My Marco, who is 
still so small ! only as tall as this, and so good and 
affectionate! You do not know what a boy he 
was! If you only knew, signora! I could not 
tear him from my neck when I set out; he wept 
in a way to move your pity; he sobbed; it seemed 
as though he knew that he would never behold his 
poor mother again. Poor Marco, my poor baby! 
I thought that my heart would break! Ah, if I 
had only died then, died while they were bidding 
me farewell! If I had but dropped dead! With- 
out a mother, my poor child, he who loved me so 
dearly, who needed me so much ! without a mother, 
in misery, he will be forced to beg! He, Marco, 
my Marco, will stretch out his hand, starving! 0 
eternal God! Yo! I will not die! The doctor! 
Call him at once! let him come, let him cut me, 
let him cleave my breast, let him drive me mad; 
but let him save my life! I want to recover; I 
want to live, to depart, to flee, to-morrow, at once ! 
The doctor ! Help ! help ! 

And the women seized her hands and soothed 
her, and made her calm herself little by little, and 
spoke to her of God and of hope. And then she 
fell back again into a mortal agony, wept with her 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 307 


hands clutched in her gray hair, moaned like an 
infant, uttering a prolonged lament, and murmur- 
ing from time to time : — 

0 my Genoa! My house! All that sea! — 0 
my Marco, my poor Marco ! Where is he now, my 
poor darling? 

It was midnight; and her poor Marco, after 
having passed many hours on the brink of a ditch, 
his strength exhausted, was then walking through 
a forest of gigantic trees, monsters of vegetation, 
huge boles like the pillars of a cathedral, which 
interlaced their enormous crests, silvered by the 
moon, at a wonderful height. Vaguely, amid the 
half gloom, he caught glimpses of myriads of 
trunks of all forms, upright, inclined, twisted, 
crossed in strange postures of menace and of con- 
flict; some overthrown on the earth, like towers 
which had fallen bodily, and covered with a dense 
and confused mass of vegetation, which seemed 
like a furious throng, disputing the ground span 
by span; others collected in great groups, vertical 
and serrated, like trophies of titanic lances, whose 
tips touched the clouds; a superb grandeur, a 
prodigious disorder of colossal forms, the most 
majestically terrible spectacle which vegetable 
nature ever presented. 

At times he was overwhelmed by a great stupor. 
But his mind instantly took flight again towards 
his mother. He was worn out, with bleeding feet, 
alone in the middle of this formidable forest, 
where it was only at long intervals that he saw 
tiny human habitations, which at the foot of these 
trees seemed like the ant-hills, or some buffalo 


308 


MAY. 


asleep beside the road; he was exhausted, but he 
was not conscious of his exhaustion; he was alone, 
yet he felt no fear. The grandeur of the forest 
rendered his soul grand; his nearness to his 
mother gave him the strength and the hardihood 
of a man; the memory of the ocean, of the alarms 
and the sufferings which he had undergone and 
vanquished, of the toil which he had endured, of 
the iron constancy which he had displayed, caused 
him to uplift his brow. All his strong and noble 
Genoese blood £owed back to his heart in an 
ardent tide of Joy and audacity. And a new thing 
took place within him; while he had, up to this 
time, borne in his mind an image of his mother, 
dimmed and paled somewhat by the two years of 
absence, at that moment the image grew clear; he 
again beheld her face, perfect and distinct, as he 
had not beheld it for a long time; he beheld it 
close to him, shining, speaking; he again beheld 
the most fleeting motions of her eyes, and of her 
lips, all her attitudes, all the shades of her 
thoughts; and urged on by these pursuing recol- 
lections, he hastened his steps. A new affection, 
an unspeakable tenderness, grew in him, grew in 
his heart, making sweet and quiet tears to flow 
down his face. As he advanced through the gloom, 
he spoke to her, he said to her the words which he 
would murmur in her ear in a little while more : — 
I am here, my mother ; behold me here. I 
will never leave you again; we will return home 
together, and I will remain always beside you on 
board the ship, close beside you, and no one shall 
ever part me from you again, no one, never more, 
so long as I have life ! ” 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 309 


And in the meantime he did not observe how the 
silvery light of the moon was dying away on the 
summits of the gigantic trees in the delicate white- 
ness of the dawn. 

At eight o^’clock on that mornings the doctor 
from Tucuman, a young Argentine, was already 
by the bedside of the sick woman, in company 
with an assistant, endeavoring, for the last time, 
to persuade her to permit herself to be operated 
on ; and the engineer Mequinez and his wife added 
their warmest persuasions to those of the former. 
But all was in vain. The woman, feeling her 
strength exhausted, had no longer any faith in the 
operation ; she was perfectly certain that she 
should die under it, or that she should only sur- 
vive it a few hours, after having suffered in vain 
pains that were more poignant than those of which 
she should die in any case. The doctor lingered 
to tell her once more : — 

“ But the operation is a safe one ; your safety is 
certain, provided you exercise a little courage! 
And your death is equally certain if you refuse 1 
It was a sheer waste of words. 

No,^^ she replied in a faint voice, I still have 
courage to die ; but I no longer have any to suffer 
uselessly. Leave me to die in peace.” 

The "doctor was discouraged and said no more. 
No one pleaded further. Then the woman turned 
her face towards her mistress, and addressed to her 
her last prayers in a dying voice. 

Dear, good signora,” she said with a great 
effort, sobbing, ‘‘you will send this little money 
and my poor effects to my family — through the 


310 


MAY. 


consul. I hope that they may all be alive. My 
heart presages well in these, my last moments. 
You will do me the favor to write — that I have 
always thought of them, that I have always toiled 
for them — for my children — that my sole grief 
was not to have seen them once more — hut that 
I died courageously — with resignation — blessing 
them; and that I recommend to my husband — 
and to my elder son — the youngest, my poor 
Marco — : that I bore him in my heart until the 
last moment — ” suddenly she became excited, and 
shrieked, as she clasped her hands : My Marco, 

my baby, my baby ! My life ! — 

But on casting her tearful eyes round her, she 
perceived that her mistress was no longer there; 
she had been secretly called away. She sought her 
master; he had disappeared. No one remained 
with her except the two nurses and the assistant. 
She heard in the adjoining room the sound of 
hurried footsteps, a murmur of hasty and subdued 
voices, and repressed exclamations. The sick 
woman fixed her glazing eyes on the door, in ex- 
pectation. At the end of a few minutes she saw 
the doctor appear with an unusual expression on 
his face; then her mistress and master, with their 
countenances also altered. All three gazed at her 
with a singular expression, and exchanged a few 
words in a low tone. She fancied that the doctor 
said to her mistress, Better let it be at once.’’ 
She did not understand. 

Josefa,” said her mistress to the sick woman, 
in a trembling voice, I have some good news for 
you. Prepare your heart for good news.” 


FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. 311 


The woman observed her narrowly. 

News/’ pursued the lady, with increasing agi- 
tation, which will give you great joy.” 

The sick woman’s eyes dilated. 

Prepare yourself,” continued her mistress, “ to 
see a person — of whom you are very fond.” 

The wom'an raised her head with a vigorous 
movement, and began to gaze in rapid succession, 
first at the lady and then at the door, with hashing 
eyes. 

person,” added the lady, turning pale, who 
has just arrived — unexpectedly.” 

Who is it?” shrieked the woman, with a 
strange and choked voice, like that of a person in 
terror. An instant later she gave vent to a shrill 
scream, sprang into a sitting posture in her bed, 
and remained motionless, with starting eyes, and 
her hands pressed to her temples, as in the pres- 
ence of a supernatural apparition. 

Marco, tattered and dusty, stood there on the 
threshold, held back by the doctor’s hand on one 
arm. 

The woman uttered three shrieks : “ God ! God ! 
My God!” 

Marco rushed forward; she stretched out to 
him her fleshless arms, and straining him to her 
heart with the strength of a tiger, she burst into 
a violent laugh, broken by deep, tearless sobs, 
which caused her to fall back, choking on her 
pillow. 

But she speedily recovered herself, and mad 
with joy, she shrieked as she covered his head 
with kisses: ‘^How do you come here? Why? 


312 


MAY. 


Is it you? How you have grown! Who brought 
you? Are you alone? You are not ill? It is 
you, Marco ! It is not a dream 1 My God I 
Speak to me ! ” 

Then she suddenly changed her tone: ^^Yo! 
Be silent! Wait!^^ And turning to the doctor, 
she said hurriedly : “ Quick, doctor ! this instant ! 
I want to get well. I am ready. £)o not lose a 
moment. Take Marco away, so that he may not 
hear. — Marco, my love, it is nothing. I will tell 
you about it. One more kiss. Go ! — Here I am, 
doctor.” 

Marco was taken away. The master, mistress, 
and women retired in haste; the surgeon and his 
assistant remained behind, and closed the door. 

Signor Mequinez attempted to lead Marco to 
a distant room, but it was impossible; he seemed 
rooted to the pavement. 

What is it ? ” he asked. What is the mat- 
ter with my mother? What are they doing to 
her? ” 

And then Mequinez said softly, still trying to 
draw him away : Here ! Listen to me. I will 

tell you now. Your mother is ill; she must un- 
dergo a little operation; I will explain it all to 
you: come with me.” 

^^Yo,” replied the lad, resisting; I want to 
stay here. Explain it to me here.” 

The engineer heaped words on words, as he 
drew him away; the boy began to grow terrified 
and to tremble. 

Suddenly an acute cry, like that of one 
wounded to the death, rang through the whole 
house. 


SUMMER. 


313 


The boy responded with another desperate 
shriek, My mother is dead ! 

The doctor appeared on the threshold and said, 

Your mother is saved.^^ 

The boy gazed at him for a moment, and then 
flung himself at his feet, sobbing, I thank you, 
doctor!^’ 

But the doctor raised him with a gesture, say- 
ing : Kise ! It is you, you heroic child, who 

have saved your mother ! 


SUMMER. 


Wednesday, 24th. 

Marco, the Genoese, is the last little hero but 
one whose acquaintance we shall make this year; 
only one remains for the month of June. There 
are but two more monthly examinations, twenty- 
six days of lessons, six Thursdays, and five Sun- 
days. 

The air of the end of the year is already felt. 
The trees of the garden, leafy and in blossom, 
cast a fine shade on the gymnastic apparatus. 
The scholars are already dressed in summer 
clothes. And it is beautiful, at the close of school 
and the exit of the classes, to see how different 
everything is from what it was in the months that 
are past. The long locks which touched the 
shoulders have disappeared; all heads are closely 
shorn; bare legs and throats are to be seen; there 
are little straw hats of every shape, with ribbons 


314 


MAY. 


that fall over the backs of the wearers; shirts and 
neckties are of every hue; all the little children 
wear something red or blue about them, a facing, 
a border, a tassel, a scrap of some vivid color 
tacked on somewhere by the mother, so that even 
the poorest may make a good figure; and many 
come to school without any hats, as though they 
had run away from home. Some wear the white 
gymnasium suit. There is one of Schoolmistress 
Delcati’s boys who is red from head to foot, like a 
boiled lobster. Several are dressed like sailors. 

But the finest of all is the little mason, who 
has donned a big straw hat, which gives him the 
appearance of a half-candle with a shade over it; 
and it is ridiculous to see him make his hare’s 
face beneath it. Coretti, too, has given up his 
catskin cap, and wears an old travelling-cap of 
gray silk. Votini has a sort of Scotch dress, all 
decorated; Cross! displays his bare breast; Pre- 
cossi is lost inside of a blue blouse belonging to 
the blacksmith. 

And Garoffi? Now that he has been obliged to 
discard the cloak beneath which he hid his wares, 
all his pockets are visible, bulging with all sorts 
of huckster’s trifles, and the lists of his lotteries 
force themselves out. Now all his pockets allow 
their contents to be seen, — fans made of half a 
newspaper, knobs of canes, darts to fire at birds, 
herbs, and maybugs which creep out of his pock- 
ets and crawl slowly over the jackets. 

Many of the little fellows carry bunches of 
flowers to the mistresses. The mistresses are 
dressed in summer garments also, of cheerful 


THE rOETlC SIDE. 


315 


tints — all except the little nun/’ who is al- 
ways in black; and the mistress with the red 
feather still has her red feather, and a knot of red 
ribbon at her neck, all tumbled with the little 
hands of her scholars, who always make her laugh 
and then run. 

It is the season, too, of cherry-trees, of butter- 
flies, of music in the streets, and of rambles in 
the country; many of the fourth grade run away 
to bathe in the Po; all have their hearts already 
set on the vacation; each day they issue forth 
from school more gay and impatient than the day 
before. Only it pains me to see Garrone in 
mourning, and my poor mistress of the primary, 
who is thinner and whiter than ever, and who 
coughs with ever-increasing violence. She walks 
all bent over now, and greets me so sadly ! 


THE POETIC SIDE. 

Friday, 26th. 

You are now beginning to understand the poetry 
of school, Enrico; but at present you only survey the 
school from within. It will seem much more beauti- 
ful and more poetic to you twenty years from now, 
when you go there to escort your own boys; and you 
will then survey it from the outside, as 1 do. While 
waiting for school to close, I wander about the 
silent street, near by, and listen at the windows of 
the ground floor, which are screened by Venetian 


316 


MAY. 


blinds. At one window I hear the voice of a school- 
mistress saying: — 

“ Ah, what a shape for a It won't do, my dear 
boy! What would your father say to it?” 

At the next window there resounds the heavy 
voice of a master, saying: — 

“ I will buy fifty metres of cloth — at four lire and 
a half the metre — and sell it again — ” 

Further on there is the mistress with the red 
feather, who is reading aloud: — 

“ Then Pietro Micca, with the lighted train of 
powder — ” 

From the adjoining class-room comes the chirping 
of a thousand birds, which signifies that the master 
has stepped out for a moment. I proceed onward, 
and as I turn the corner, I hear a scholar weeping, 
and the voice of the mistress reproving and com- 
forting him. From the lofty windows issue verses, 
names of great and good men, fragments of sen- 
tences which teach virtue, the love of country, and 
courage. Then ensue moments of silence, in which 
one would declare that the building is empty, and 
it does not seem possible that there should be seven 
hundred boys within. Noisy outbursts of hilarity 
are heard again, provoked by the jest of a master 
in a good humor. And the people who are passing 
halt, and glance with sympathy towards that pleas- 
ing school, which contains so much youth and so 
many hopes. 

Then a sudden dull sound is heard, a clapping to 
of books and satchels, a shuffling of feet, a buzz 
which spreads from room to room, and from the 
lower to the higher, as at the sudden spread of a 


THE DEAF-MUTE. 


317 


bit of good news: it is the beadle, who is making his 
rounds, announcing the dismissal of school. And 
at that sound a throng of women, men, girls, and 
youths press closer around the door, waiting for 
their sons, brothers, or grandchildren; while from 
the doors of the class-rooms little boys shoot forth 
into the big hall, as from a spout, seize their little 
capes and hats, creating a great confusion with 
them on the floor, and dancing all about, until the 
beadle chases them forth one after the other. At 
length they come forth, in long files, stamping their 
feet. And then from all the relatives comes a 
shoiwer of questions: “ Did you know your lesson V 
— How much work did they give you? — What 
have you to do for to-morrow? — When does the 
monthly examination come?’' 

Then even the poor mothers who do not know 
how to read, open the copy-books, gaze at the prob- 
lems, and ask particulars: “Only eight? — Ten 
with commendation? — Nine for the lesson?” 

And they grow uneasy, and rejoice, and question 
the masters, and talk of the prospect for the exam- 
inations. How beautiful all this is, and how great 
its promise to the world! 

Your Mother. 


THE DEAF-MUTE. 

Sunday, 28th. 

The month of May could not have had a better 
ending than my visit of this morning. We heard 


318 


MAY. 


a Jingling of the bell, and all ran to see what ;t 
meant. 1 heard my father say in a tone of aston- 
ishment : — 

You here, Giorgio? ’’ 

Giorgio was our gardener in Chieri, who now 
has his family at Condove, and who had Just ar- 
rived from Genoa, where he had disembarked on 
the preceding day, on his return from Greece, 
after working on the railway there for the last 
three years. He had a big bundle in his arms. 
He has grown a little older, but his face is still 
red and Jolly. 

My father asked him in; but he refused, and 
suddenly inquired, assuming a serious look : 
‘‘ How is my family? How is Gigia? 

She was well a few days ago,^’ replied my 
mother. 

Giorgio uttered a deep sigh. 

Oh, God be praised ! I did not have the 
courage to present myself at the Deaf-mute In- 
stitution until 1 had heard about her. I will 
leave my bundle here, and run to get her. It is 
three years since I have seen my poor little daugh- 
ter! Three years since I have seen any of my 
people 1 

My father told me to go with him. 

“ Excuse me ; one word more,” said the gar- 
dener, from the landing. 

My father interrupted him, “ How are your af- 
fairs? ” 

‘‘All right,” the other replied. “Thanks to 
God, I have brought back a few soldi. But I 
wanted to inquire. Tell me how the education 


THE DEAF-MUTE. 


319 


of the little dumb girl is getting on. When I 
left her, she was like a little animal, poor thing! 
I don’t put much faith in those colleges. Has she 
learned how to make signs? My wife did write to 
me, to be sure, ^ She is learning to speak ; she is 
making progress.’ But I said to myself. What 
is the use of her learning to talk if I don’t know 
how to make the signs myself? How shall we 
manage to understand each other, poor child ! It 
is well enough for them to understand each other, 
one unfortunate with another unfortunate. How 
is she getting on, then? How is she?” 

My father smiled, and replied : — 

I shall not tell you anything about it; you 
will see ; go, go ; don’t waste another minute ! ” 

We started. The institute is close by. As we 
went along at a great pace, the gardener talked 
to me, and grew sad. 

“ Ah, my poor Gigia ! To be born with such 
an infirmity! To think that I have never heard 
her call me father; that she has never heard me 
call her my daughter; that she has never either 
heard or spoken a single word since she has been 
in the world! And it is lucky that a charitable 
gentleman was found to pay the expenses of the 
institution. But that is all — she could not enter 
there until she was eight years old. She has not 
been at home for three years. She is now going 
on eleven. And she has grown? Tell me, she 
has grown? She is in good spirits?” 

“ You will see in a moment, you will see in a 
moment,” I replied, hastening my pace. 


320 


MAY. 


But where is this institution? ’’ he demanded. 

My wife went with her after I was gone. It 
seems to me that it ought to be near here.” 

We had just reached it. We at once entered 
the parlor. An attendant came to meet us. 

I am the father of Gigia Voggi,” said the gar- 
dener ; “ send for my daughter at once.” 

‘‘They are at play,” replied the attendant; “I 
will go and inform the matron.” And he has- 
tened away. 

The gardener could no longer speak nor stand 
still; he stared at all four walls, without seeing 
anything. 

The door opened; a teacher entered, dressed in 
black, holding a little girl by the hand. 

Father and daughter gazed at each other for an 
instant; then flew into each other’s arms, with a 
cry. 

The girl was dressed in a white and reddish 
striped material, with a gray apron. She is a 
little taller than I. She cried, and clung to her 
father’s neck with both arms. 

Her father disengaged himself, and began to 
look her over from head to foot, panting as though 
he had run a long way ; and he exclaimed : “ Ah, 
how she has grown ! How pretty she has become ! 
Oh, my dear, poor Gigia! My poor mute child! 
— Are you her teacher, signora? Tell her to 
make some of her signs to me; for I shall be able 
to understand something, and then I will learn 
little by little. Tell her to make me understand 
something with her gestures.” 


THE DEAF-MUTE. 


32l 


The teacher smiled, and said in a low voice to 
the girl, “ Who is this man who has come to see 
you? ” 

And the girl replied with a smile, in a coarse, 
strange, harsh voice, like that of a savage who 
was speaking for the first time in our language, 
but with a distinct pronunciation, “ He is my 
fa-ther.’’ 

The gardener fell back a pace, and shrieked like 
a madman : She speaks ! Is it possible ! Is it 

possible! She speaks? Can you speak, my child? 
can you speak? Say something to me: you can 
speak ? and he embraced her afresh, and kissed 
her thrice on the brow. But it is not with signs 
that she talks, signora; it is not with her fingers? 
What does this mean ? 

Ho, Signor Voggi,^^ rejoined the teacher, it 
is not with signs. That was the old way. Here 
we teach the new method, the oral method. How 
is it that you did not know it? ” 

I knew nothing about it ! ” replied the gar- 
dener, lost in amazement. I have been abroad 
for the last three years. Oh, they wrote to me, 
and I did not understand. I am a blockhead. 
Oh, my daughter, you understand me, then? Do 
you hear my voice? Answer me: do you hear 
me? Do you hear what I say? ’’ 

Why, no, my good man,’^ said the teacher; 
she does not hear your voice, because she is deaf. 
She understands from the movements of your lips 
what the words are that you utter; this is the 
way the thing is managed. But she does not hear 
your voice any more than she does the words she 


322 


MAY. 


speaks to you; she pronounces them, because we 
have taught her, letter by letter, how she must 
place her lips and move her tongue, and what 
effort to make with her chest and throat, in order 
to emit a sound.’’ 

The gardener did not understand, and stood 
with his mouth wide open. He did not yet be- 
lieve it. 

“ Tell me, Gigia,” he asked his daughter, whis- 
pering in her ear, are you glad that your father 
has come back ? ” and he raised his face again, and 
stood awaiting her reply. 

The girl looked at him thoughtfully, and said 
nothing. 

Her father was troubled. 

The teacher laughed. Then she said : My 
good man, she does not answer you, because she 
did not see the movements of your lips : you spoke 
in her ear! Eepeat your question, keeping your 
face well before hers.” 

The father, gazing straight in her face, re- 
peated, Are you glad that your father has come 
back? that he is not going away again?” 

The girl, who had watched his lips closely, 
seeking even to see inside his mouth, replied 
frankly : — 

Yes, I am de-light-ed that you have re- 
turned, that you are not go-ing a-way a-gain — 
nev-er a-gain.” 

Her father embraced her impetuously, and then 
in great haste, in order to make quite sure, he 
overwhelmed her with questions. 

“What is mamma’s name?” 


THE DEAF-MUTE. 


323 


An-to-nia.” 

What is the name of your little sister? 

Ad-e-laide.’^ 

‘‘What is the name of this college? 

“ The Deaf-mute Insti-tution.^^ 

“ How many are two times ten? ” 

“ Twen-ty.’^ 

While we thought that he was laughing for joy, 
he suddenly burst out crying. But it was from 

joy. 

“ Take courage,” said the teacher to him; “ you 
have reason to rejoice, not to weep. You see that 
you are making your daughter cry also. You are 
pleased, then? ” 

The gardener grasped the teacher’s hand and 
kissed it two or three times, saying : “ Thank 

you! a hundred times, a thousand times, dear 
Signora Teacher! and forgive me for not know- 
ing how to say anything else ! ” 

“But she not only speaks,” said the teacher; 
“ your daughter also knows how to write. She 
knows how to reckon. She knows the names of 
all common objects. She knows a little history 
and geography. She is now in the regular class. 
When she has passed through the two remaining 
classes, she will know much more. When she 
leaves here, she will be in a condition to adopt a 
profession. We already have deaf-mutes who 
stand in the shops to serve customers, and they 
perform their duties like any one else.” 

Again the gardener was astounded. It seemed 
as though his ideas were becoming confused 
again. He stared at his daughter and scratched 


324 


MAY. 


his head. His face demanded another explana- 
tion. 

Then the teacher turned to the attendant and 
said to him : — 

Call a child of the preparatory class for me.^^ 

The attendant returned, in a short time, with 
a deaf-mute of eight or nine years, who had en- 
tered the institution a few days before. 

This girl,” said the mistress, is one of those 
whom we are instructing in the first elements. 
This is the way it is done. I want to make her 
say e. Pay attention.” 

The teacher opened her mouth, as one opens 
it to pronounce the vowel e, and motioned to the 
child to open her mouth in the same manner. 
Then the mistress made her a sign to throw out 
her voice. She did so; but instead of e, she pro- 
nounced 0. 

“No,” said the mistress, “that is not right.” 
And taking the child’s hands, she placed one of 
them on her own throat and the other on her 
chest, and repeated “ ^.” 

The child felt with her hands the movements 
of the mistress’s throat and chest, opened her 
mouth again as before, and pronounced e ” 
correctly. 

In the same manner, the mistress made her 
pronounce c and d, still keeping the two little 
hands on her own throat and chest. 

“ Now do you understand? ” she inquired. 

The father understood; hut he seemed more 
astonished than before. 

“And they are taught to speak in the same 


THE DEAF-MUTE. 


325 


way ? he asked, after a moment of reflection, 
gazing at the teacher. You have the patience 
to teach them to speak in that manner, little by 
little, and so many of them? one by one — 
through years and years? But you are saints; 
that’s what you are! You are angels of para- 
dise! There is not in the world a reward that 
is worthy of you! What is there that I can say? 
Ah! leave me alone with my daughter a little 
while now. Let me have her to myself for five 
minutes.” 

And drawing her to a seat apart he began to 
question her, and she to reply, and he laughed 
with beaming eyes, slapping his fists down on his 
knees. He took his daughter’s hands, and stared 
at her, beside himself with delight at hearing her, 
as though her voice had been one which came 
from Heaven; then he asked the teacher, Would 
the Signor Director permit me to thank him? ” 
The director is not here,” replied the mis- 
tress; ^^but there is another person whom you 
should thank. Every little girl here is given into 
the charge of an older companion, who acts the 
part of sister or mother to her. Your little girl 
has been intrusted to the care of a deaf-mute of 
seventeen, the daughter of a baker, who is kind to 
and very fond of her; she has been assisting her 
for two years to dress herself every morning; she 
combs her hair, she teaches her to sew, she mends 
her clothes, she is good company for her. — Luigia, 
what is the name of your mamma in the insti- 
tute? ” 


326 


MAY. 


The girl smiled, and said, Ca-te-rina Gior- 
dano.'' Then she said to her father, She is 
ve-ry, ve-ry good." 

The attendant, who had withdrawn at a signal 
from the mistress, returned almost at once with a 
light-haired deaf-mute, a robust girl, with a cheer- 
ful countenance, and also dressed in the red and 
white striped stuff, with a gray apron. She 
paused at the door and blushed; then she bent 
her head with a smile. She had the figure of a 
woman, but seemed like a girl. 

Giorgio’s daughter instantly ran to her, took 
her by the arm, like a child, and drew her to her 
father, saying, in her heavy voice, Ca-te-rina 
Gior-dano." 

Ah, what a good girl ! " exclaimed her 
father; and he stretched out one hand to caress 
her, but drew it back again, and repeated, “ Ah, 
what a good girl! May God bless her, may He 
grant her all good fortune, all consolations; may 
He make her and hers always happy, since she 
has been so good to my poor Gigia! It is an 
honest workingman, the poor father of a family, 
who wishes you this with all his heart." 

The big girl petted the little one, still keeping 
her face bent, and smiling, and the gardener con- 
tinued to gaze at her, as at a madonna. 

You can take your daughter with you for the 
day," said the mistress. 

Won't I take her, though! " rejoined the gar- 
dener. I'll take her to Condove, and fetch her 
back to-morrow morning. Think for a bit 
whether I won't take her ! " 


THE DEAF-MUTE. 


327 


The girl ran off to dress. 

“ It is three years since I have seen her ! re- 
peated the gardener, she speaks I 

will take her to Condove with me this minute. 
But first I shall take a walk about Turin, with 
my deaf-mute on my arm, so that all may see her, 
and I shall take her to see some of my friends! 
Ah, what a beautiful day! This is consolation 
indeed ! — Here’s your father’s arm, my Gigia.” 

The girl, who had returned with a little mantle 
and cap on, took his arm. 

“ And thanks to all ! ” said the father, as he 
reached the threshold. Thanks to all, with my 
whole soul! I shall come back another time to 
thank you all again.” 

He stood for a moment in thought, then turned 
abruptly from the girl, came back, fumbling in 
his waistcoat with his hand, and shouted like a 
man in a fury : — 

Come now, I am not a poor devil ! So here, 
I leave twenty lire for the institution, — a fine 
new gold piece.” 

And with a tremendous bang, he left his gold 
piece on the table. 

No, no, my good man,” said the mistress, with 
emotion. Take back your money. I cannot 
accept it. Take it back. It is not my place. 
You shall see about that when the director is 
here. But he will not accept anything either; be 
sure of that. You have toiled too hard to earn 
it, poor man. We shall be greatly obliged to 
you, all the same.” 

“No; I shall leave it,” replied the gardener, 
obstinately; “and then — we will see.” 


328 


MAY. 


But the mistress put his money back in his 
pocket, without leaving him time to reject it. 
So he gave up with a shake of the head; and then, 
throwing a kiss to the mistress and to the older 
girl, he quickly took his daughter’s arm again, 
and hurried with her out of the door, saying: — 
“ Come, come, my daughter, my poor dumb 
child, my treasure ! ” 

And the girl exclaimed, in her harsh voice : — 
Oh, how beau-ti-ful the sun is ! ” 


GARIBALDI. 


329 


JUNE. 


GARIBALDI. 

June 3d. 

To-morrow is the National Festival Day. 

To-day is a day of national mourning. Garibaldi 
died last night. Do you know who he is? He is the 
man who freed ten millions of Italians from the 
tyranny of the Bourbons. He died at the age of 
seventy-five. He was born at Nice, the son of a 
ship captain. At eight years of age, he saved a 
woman’s life; at thirteen, he dragged into safety a 
boat-load of his companions who were shipwrecked; 
at twenty-seven, he saved a drowning youth, at 
Marseilles; at forty-one, he saved a ship from burn- 
ing on the ocean. He fought for ten years in America 
for the liberty of a foreign people; he fought in three 
wars against the Austrians, for the liberation of 
Lombardy and Trentino; he defended Rome from the 
French in 1849; he liberated Naples and Palermo in 
1860; he fought again for Rome in 1867; and fought 
against the Germans in defence of France in 1870. 
He was possessed of the flame of heroism and the 
genius of 'war. He was engaged in forty battles, 
and won thirty-seven of them. 

When he was not fighting, he was working for his 
living, or he shut himself up in a solitary island, and 
tilled the soil. He was teacher, sailor, workman, 
trader, soldier, general, dictator. He was simple, 


330 


JUNE. 


great, and good. He hated all oppressors, he loved 
all peoples, he protected all the weak; he had no other 
aspiration than good, he refused honors, he scorned 
death, he adored Italy. When he uttered his war- 
cry, legions of valorous men hastened to him from all 
quarters; gentlemen left their palaces, workmen their 
ships, youths their schools, to go and fight in the 
sunshine of his glory. In time of war he wore a red 
shirt. He was a blonde, strong and handsome. On the 
field of battle he was a thunder-bolt; in his affections 
he was a child, in affliction he was a saint. Thou- 
sands of Italians have died for their country, happy, 
if, when dying, they saw him pass victorious in the 
distance; thousands would have allowed themselves 
to be killed for him; millions have blessed and will 
bless him. 

He is dead. The whole world mourns him. You 
do not appreciate him now. But you will read of 
his deeds, you will constantly hear him spoken of in 
the course of your life; and gradually, as you grow 
up, his image will grow before you; when you be- 
come a man, you will behold him as a giant; and 
when you are no longer in the world, when your 
sons’ sons and those who shall be born of them are 
no longer among the living, the generations will still 
behold on high his luminous head as a redeemer of 
the people, crowned by the names of his victories as 
with a circlet of stars; and the brow and the soul 
of every Italian will beam when he utters his name. 

Your Father. 


THE ARMY. 


331 


THE ARMY. 

Sunday, 11th. 

The National Festival Day. Postponed for a 
week on account of the death of Garibaldi. 

We have been to the Piazza Gastello, to see the 
review of soldiers, who defiled before the com- 
mandant of the army corps, between two long 
lines of people. As they marched past to the 
sound of trumpets and bands, my father pointed 
out to me the Corps and the glories of the ban- 
ners. 

First, the pupils of the Academy, those who 
will become officers in the Engineers and the 
Artillery, about three hundred in number, dressed 
in black, passed with the bold and easy elegance 
of students and soldiers. After them defiled the 
infantry, the brigade of Aosta, which fought at 
Goito and at San Martino, and the Bergamo 
brigade, which fought at Castelfidardo, — four 
regiments of them, company after company, thou- 
sands of red aiguillettes, which seemed like so 
many double and very long garlands of blood- 
colored flowers, extended and shaken from the 
two ends, and borne across the crowd. 

After the infantry, the soldiers of the Mining 
Corps advanced, — the workingmen of war, with 
their plumes of black horse-tails, and their crim- 
son bands; and while these were passing, we be- 
held advancing behind them hundreds of long, 
straight plumes, which rose above the heads of 
the spectators; they were the Alpine troops, the 


332 


JtJNEl. 


defenders of the portals of Italy, all tall, rosy, 
and stalwart, with hats of Calabrian fashion, and 
lapels of a beantiful, bright green, the color of 
the grass on their native mountains. 

The mountaineers were still marching past, 
when a stir ran through the crowd, and the 
bersaglieri,^’ the old twelfth battalion, the first 
to enter Eome through the breach at the Porta 
Pia, bronzed, alert, brisk, with fluttering plumes, 
passed like a wave in a sea of black, making the 
piazza ring with the shrill blasts of their trumpets, 
which seemed like shouts of joy. But their trump- 
eting was drowned by a broken and hollow rum- 
ble, which announced the field artillery; and the 
latter passed in triumph, seated on their lofty cais- 
sons, drawn by three hundred teams of fiery 
horses, — those fine soldiers with yellow lacings, 
and their long cannons of brass and steel gleam- 
ing on the light carriages, as they jolted and re- 
sounded, and made the earth tremble. 

Then came the mountain artillery, slowly, 
gravety, fine in its heavy, solid way, with its large 
soldiers, and its powerful mules — that mountain 
artillery which carries dismay and death wherever 
man can set his foot. And last of all, the fine 
regiment of the Genoese cavalry, which had 
wheeled down like a whirlwind on ten fields of 
battle, from Santa Lucia to Villafranca, passed 
at a gallop, their helmets glittering in the sun, 
their lances erect, their pennons floating in the 
air, sparkling with gold and silver, filling the air 
with jingling and neighing. 


ITALY. 


333 


How beautiful it is ! I exclaimed. My 
father almost reproved me for the words, and 
said : — 

You are not to regard the army as a fine show. 
All these young men, so full of strength and hope, 
may be called upon any da}?" to defend our coun- 
try, and fall in a few hours, crushed to fragments 
by bullets and grape-shot. Every time that you 
hear the cry, at a feast, ‘ Hurrah for the army ! 
hurrah for Italy ! ’ picture to yourself, behind the 
regiments which are passing, a plain covered with 
corpses, and red with blood, and then the greet- 
ing to the army will proceed from the very depths 
of your heart, and the image of Italy will appear 
to you more severe and grand.” 


ITALY. 

Tuesday, 13th. 

Salute your country on days of festival, thus: 
“ Italy, my country, dear and noble land, where my 
father and -my mother were born, and where they will 
be buried, where I hope to live and die, where my 
children will gro^v up and die; beautiful Italy, great 
and glorious for many centuries, united and free for 
the past few years; who has scattered so great a light 
of intellect divine over the world, and for whom so 
many valiant men have died on the battle-field, and 
so many heroes on the gallows; august mother of 
three hundred cities, and thirty millions of sons; I, 
a child, who do not understand you as yet, and who 
do not know you in your entirety, venerate and love 


334 


JUNE. 


you with all my soul, and am proud of having been 
born of you, and of calling myself your son. I love 
j’^our splended seas and sublime mountains; I love 
your solemn monuments and immortal memories; I 
love your glory and beauty; I love and venerate the 
whole of you as much as that beloved portion where 
I, for the first time, beheld the light and heard your 
name. I love the whole of you, with a single affection 
and with equal gratitude, — Turin the valiant, Genoa 
the superb, Bologna the learned, Venice the enchant- 
ing, Milan the mighty; I love with the reverence of a 
son, gentle Florence and terrible Palermo, immense 
and beautiful Naples, marvellous and eternal Rome. 
I love you, my sacred country! And I swear that I 
will love all your sons like brothers; that I will al- 
ways honor in my heart your great men, living and 
dead; that I will be an industrious and honest citi- 
zen, constantly intent on ennobling myself, in order 
to render myself worthy of you, to assist with my 
small powers in causing misery, ignorance, injustice, 
crime, to disappear one day from your face, so that 
you may live and grow quietly in the majesty of 
your right and of your strength. I swear that I will 
serve you, as it may be granted to me, with my mind, 
with my arm, with my heart, humbly, ardently; and 
that, if the day should dawn in which I should be 
called on to give my blood and my life for you, I 
will give my blood, and I will die, crying your holy 
name to heaven, and wafting my last kiss to your 
blessed banner.” 


Your Father. 


THIRTY-TWO DEGREES. 


335 


THIETY-TWO DEGEEES. 

Friday, 16th. 

During the five days which have passed since 
the National Festival, the heat has increased by 
three degrees. We are in full summer now, and 
begin to feel weary; all have lost their fine rosy 
color of springtime; necks and legs are growing 
thin, heads droop and eyes close. Poor Nelli, 
who suffers much from the heat, has turned the 
color of wax in the face; he sometimes falls into 
a heavy sleep, with his head on his copy-book. 
But Garrone is always watchful, and places an 
open book in front of him, so that the master 
can not see him. Crossi rests his red head 
against the bench in a certain way, so that it looks 
as though it had been taken from his body and 
placed there separately. Nobis complains that 
there are too many of us, and that we spoil the 
air. 

Ah, what an effort it costs now to study! I 
gaze through the windows at those beautiful trees 
which cast so deep a shade, where I should be so 
glad to run, and sadness and impatience over- 
whelm me at being obliged to go and shut myself 
up among the benches. But then I take courage 
at the sight of my kind mother, who is always 
watching me, when I return from school, to see 
whether I am not pale; and at every page of my 
work she says to me : — 

^^Do you still feel well?^^ and every morning 


336 


JUNE. 


at six, when she wakes me for my lesson, Cour- 
age! there are only so many days more: then you 
will be free, and will get rested, — you will go to 
the shade of country lanes.” 

Yes, she is perfectly right to remind me of the 
boys who are working in the fields in the full heat 
of the sun, or among the white sands of the river, 
which blind and scorch them, and of those in the 
glass-factories, who stand all day long, motion- 
less, with head bent over a fiame of gas; and 
all of them rise earlier than we do, and have no 
vacations. Courage, then ! 

Even in this respect, Derossi is at the head of 
all, for he suffers neither from heat nor drowsi- 
ness; he is always wide awake, and cheery, with 
his golden curls, as he was in the winter, and he 
studies without effort, and keeps all about him 
alert, as though he freshened the air with his 
voice. 

There are two others, also, who are always 
awake and attentive : stubborn Stardi, who 
pinches his face, to keep from going to sleep ; and 
the more weary and heated he is, the more he 
sets his teeth, and he opens his eyes so wide that 
it seems as though he wanted to eat the teacher; 
and that trader of a Garoffi, who is wholly ab- 
sorbed in manufacturing fans out of red paper, 
decorated with little figures from match-boxes, 
which he sells at two centesimi apiece. 

But the bravest of all is Coretti; poor Coretti, 
who gets up at five o’clock, to help his father 
carry wood! At eleven, in school, he can no 
longer keep his eyes open, and his head droops 


MY FATHER. 


33t 


on his breast. Nevertheless, he shakes himself, 
punches himself on the back of the neck, asks 
permission to go out and wash his face, and makes 
his neighbors shake and pinch him. But this 
morning he could not resist, and fell into a heavy 
sleep. The teacher called him loudly : Co- 

retti ! He did not hear. The teacher, irri- 
tated, repeated, “ Coretti ! Then the son of the 
charcoal-man, who lives next to him at home, rose 
and said : — 

He worked from five until seven carrying 
wood.” 

The teacher allowed him to sleep on, and con- 
tinued with the lesson for half an hour. Then 
he went to Coretti’s seat, and wakened him very, 
very gently, by blowing in his face. On seeing 
the master in front of him, he started back in 
alarm. But the master took his head in his 
hands, and said, as he stroked his hair : — 

I am not reproving you, my son. Your sleep 
is not at all that of laziness; it is the sleep of 
fatigue.” 


MY FATHER. 


Saturday, 17th. 

Surely, neither your comrade Coretti nor Garrone 
would ever have answered their fathers as you an- 
swered yours this afternoon. Enrico! How is it pos- 
sible? You must promise me solemnly that this shall 
never happen again so long as I live. Every time 
that an impertinent reply flies to your lips at a re- 


338 


JUNE. 


proof from your father, tliiuk of that day which will 
surely come when he will call you to his bedside to 
tell you, “ Enrico, I am about to leave you.” Oh, 
my son, when you hear his voice for the last time, 
and for a long while afterwards, when you weep 
alone in his deserted room, in the midst of those 
books which he will never open again, then, on re- 
calling that you have at times been wanting in re- 
spect to him, you, too, will ask yourself, ‘‘ How is it 
possible?” Then you will understand that he has 
always been your best friend, that when he was con- 
strained to punish you, it caused him more suffering 
than it did you, and that he never made you weep 
except for the sake of doing you good; and then you 
will repent, and you will kiss with tears that desk 
at which he worked so much, at which he wore out 
his life for his children. You do not understand 
now; he hides from you all of himself except his 
kindness and his love. You do not know that he is 
sometimes so broken down with toil that he thinks 
he has only a few more days to live, and that at such 
moments he talks only of you; he has in his heart 
no other trouble than that of leaving you poor and 
without protection. 

And how often, when meditating on this, does he 
enter your room while you are asleep, and stand 
there, lamp in hand, gazing at you; and then he 
makes an effort, and weary and sad as he is, he re- 
turns to his labor. Neither do you know that he often 
seeks you and remains with you because he has a 
bitterness in his heart, sorrows which attack all men 
in the world, and he seeks you as a friend, to obtain 
consolation himself and forgetfulness, and he feels 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


339 


the need of taking refuge in your affection, to re- 
cover his serenity and his courage. Think, then, 
what must be his sorrow, when instead of finding in 
you affection, he finds coldness and disrespect! Never 
again stain yourself with this horrible ingratitude! 
Refiect, that were you as good as a saint, you could 
never repay him sufficiently for what he has done 
and for what he is constantly doing for you. And 
reflect, also, we cannot count on life; a misfortune 
might remove your father while you are still a boy,— 
in two years, in three months, to-morrow. 

Ah, my poor Enrico, when you see all about you 
changing, how empty, how desolate the house will 
appear, with your poor mother clothed in black! 
Go, my son, go to your father; he is in his room at 
work. Go on tiptoe, so that he may not hear you 
enter; go and lay your forehead on his knees, and ask 
him to pardon and to bless you. 

Your Mother. 


m THE COUNTKY. 

Monday, 19th. 

My good father forgave me on this occasion 
also, and allowed me to go on an expedition to the 
country, which had been arranged on Wednes- 
day, with the father of Coretti, the wood-peddler. 
We were all in need of a mouthful of mountain 
air. 

It was a holiday. We met at two o’clock in 
the place of the Statue — Derossi, Garrone, Ga- 


^40 


JUNE. 


roffi, Precossi, Coretti, father and son, and I, with 
our provisions of fruit, sausages, and hard-boiled 
eggs; we also carried leather bottles and tin cups. 
Garrone carried a gourd filled with white wine; 
Coretti, his father’s soldier-canteen, full of red 
wine; and little Precossi, in the blacksmith’s 
blouse, held under his arm a two- kilogramme loaf. 

We went in the omnibus as far as Gran Madre 
di Dio, and then off, as briskly as possible, to the 
hills. How green, how shady, how fresh it was! 
We rolled over and over in the grass, we dipped 
our faces in the rivulets, we leaped the hedges. 
The elder Coretti followed us at a distance, with 
his jacket thrown over his shoulders, smoking 
his clay pipe, and from time to time threatening 
us with his hand, to prevent our tearing holes in 
our trousers. 

Precossi whistled; I had never heard him whis- 
tle before. The younger Coretti did the same, 
as he went along. That little fellow can make 
everything with his jack-knife, — mill-wheels, 
forks, squirts. He insisted on carrying the other 
boys’ things, and he was loaded down until he was 
dripping with perspiration, but he was still as 
nimble as a goat. Derossi halted every moment 
to tell us the names of the plants and insects. I 
don’t see how he manages to know so many 
things. 

Garrone nibbled at his bread in silence; but 
he no longer attacks it with the cheery bites of 
old, poor Garrone! now that he has lost his 
mother. But he is always as good as bread him- 
self. When one of us went back for a running 





WE DESCENDED RUNNING AND SINGING. 




i ‘ 








:.- :“ ■ •r^"' ^ 




^ ^ ~ • n 

*^: 7 .‘ ■-. '. 

^ - J ' , ■ * • 

4 - ♦ j - i\.. 





,C::C 







IN THE COUNTRY. 


341 


start to leap a ditch, he ran to the other side, and 
held out his hands to us; and since Precossi is 
afraid of cows, having been tossed by one when a 
child, Garrone placed himself in front of him 
every time that we passed any. We mounted up 
to Santa Margherita, and then went down the de- 
cline by leaps, rolls, and slides. Precossi tum- 
bled into a thorn-bush, and tore a hole in his 
blouse, and stood there shamefacedly, with the 
strip dangling; but Garoffi, who always has pins 
in his jacket, fixed it so that it was not to be seen, 
while the other kept saying, Excuse me, excuse 
me,^’ and then he set out to run once more. 

Garoffi did not waste his time on the way; he 
picked salad herbs and snails, and put every stone 
that glistened the least bit into his pocket, sup- 
posing that there was gold and silver in it. And 
on we went, running, rolling, and climbing 
through the shade and in the sun, up and down, 
through all the lanes and cross-roads, until we 
arrived tumbled and breathless at the crest of a 
hill, where we seated ourselves to take our lunch 
on the grass. 

We could see an immense plain, and all the blue 
Alps with their white summits. We were almost 
dying of hunger; the bread seemed to be melting. 
The elder Coretti handed us our portions of 
sausage on gourd leaves. And then we all began 
to talk at once about the teachers, the comrades 
who had not been able to come, and the exam- 
inations. Precossi was rather ashamed to eat, 
and Garrone thrust the best bits of his share into 
his mouth by force. Coretti v/as seated next his 


342 


JUNE. 


father, with his legs crossed; they seem more like 
two brothers than father and son, when seen thus 
together, both rosy and smiling, with those white 
teeth of theirs. The father drank with zest, 
emptying the bottles and the cups which we left 
half finished, and said : — 

‘^Wine hurts you boys who are studying; it is 
the wood-sellers who need it.^^ Then he grasped 
his son by the nose, and shook him, remarking. 
Boys, you must love this fellow, for he is a 
flower of a man of honor ; I tell you so myself ! 
And then we all laughed, except Garrone. And 
he went on, as he drank, It’s a shame, eh ! now 
you are all good friends together, and in a few 
years, who knows, Enrico and Derossi will be law- 
yers or professors or I don’t know what, and the 
other four of you will be in shops or at a trade, 
and the deuce knows where, and then — good 
night, comrades ! ” 

“Nonsense!” rejoined Derossi; “for me, Gar- 
rone will always be Garrone, Precossi will always 
be Precossi, and the same with all the others, were 
I to become the emperor of Kussia: where they 
are, there I shall go also.” 

“ Bless you ! ” exclaimed the elder Coretti, rais- 
ing his flask ; “ that’s the way to talk, by Heavens 1 
Touch your glass here! Hurrah for brave com- 
rades, and hurrah for school, which makes one 
family of you, of those who have and those who 
have not ! ” 

We all clinked his flask with the skins and the 
cups, and drank for the last time. 

“ Hurrah for the fourth of the 49th ! ” he 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


343 


cried, as he rose to his feet, and swallowed the 
last drop ; ‘‘ and if you have to do with squadrons 
too, see that you stand firm, like us old ones> my 
lads ! ” 

It was already late. We descended, running 
and singing, and walking long distances all arm 
in arm, and we arrived at the Po as twilight fell, 
and thousands of fireflies were flitting about. 
And we only parted in the Piazza dello Statute 
after having agreed to meet there on the follow- 
ing Sunday, and go to the Vittorio Emanuele to 
see the distribution of prizes to the graduates of 
the evening schools. 

What a beautiful day! How happy I should 
have been on my return home, had I not encoun- 
tered my poor schoolmistress! I met her coming 
down the staircase of our house, almost in the 
dark, and, as soon as she recognized me, she took 
both my hands, and whispered in my ear, “ Good- 
bye, Enrico ; remember me ! ^^ I saw that she 
was weeping. I went up and told my mother 
about it. 

I have just met my schoolmistress.'’^ 

She was just going to bed,’^ replied my 
mother, whose eyes were red. And then she 
added very sadly, looking straight at me, '‘Your 
poor teacher — is very ill.” 


344 


JUNE. 


THE DISTKIBUTION OF PRIZES TO THE 
WORKINGMEN. 

Sunday, 25tli. 

As we had agreed, we all went together to the 
Theatre Vittorio Emanuele, to view the distribu- 
tion of prizes to the workingmen. The theatre 
was adorned as on the 14th of March, and 
thronged, but almost wholly with the families of 
workmen; and the pit was occupied by the male 
and female pupils of the school of choral singing. 
They sang a hymn to the soldiers who had died 
in the Crimea, which was so beautiful that, when 
it was finished, all rose and clapped and shouted, 
so that the song had to be repeated from the be- 
ginning. Then the prize-winners began to march 
past the mayor, the prefect, and many others, who 
presented them with books, savings-bank books, 
diplomas, and medals. In one corner of the pit 
I espied the little mason,^’ sitting beside his 
mother. In another place there was the princi- 
pal; behind him, the red head of my teacher of 
the second grade. 

The first to pass were the pupils of the evening 
drawing classes — the goldsmiths, engravers, lith- 
ographers, carpenters, and masons; then those of 
the commercial school; then those of the Musical 
Lyceum, among them several girls, working- 
women, all dressed in festal attires and smiling, 
who were saluted with great applause. Last 
came the pupils of the elementary evening schools. 
It was a fine sight. They were of all ages, of all 


THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. 


345 


trades, and dressed in all sorts of ways, — men 
with gray hair, factory boys, artisans with big 
black beards. The little ones were at their ease; 
the men, a little embarrassed. The people clapped 
the oldest and the youngest, but none of the spec- 
tators laughed, as they did at our festival: all 
faces were attentive and serious. 

Many of the prize-winners had wives and chil- 
dren in the pit, and there were little children who, 
when they saw their father pass across the stage, 
called him by name at the tops of their voices, 
and signalled to him with their hands, laughing 
loudly. Peasants passed, and porters; they were 
from the Buoncompagni School. From the Cit- 
tadella School there was a bootblack whom my 
father knew, and the prefect gave him a diploma. 
After him I saw approaching a man as big as a 
giant, whom I fancied that I had seen several 
times before. It was the father of the little 
mason,^^ who had won the second prize. I re- 
membered when I had seen him in the garret, at 
the bedside of his sick son, and I immediately 
sought out his son in the pit. Poor little ma- 
son ! he was staring at his father with beaming 
eyes, and, in order to hide his feelings, he made 
his hare’s face. At that moment I heard a burst 
of applause, and I glanced at the stage: a little 
chimney-sweep stood there, with a clean face, but 
in his working-clothes, and the mayor was hold- 
ing him by the hand and talking to him. 

After the chimney-sweep came a cook; then 
came one of the city sweepers, from the Eaineri 
School, to get a prize. I felt I know not what 


346 


JUNE. 


in my heart, — something like a great affection 
and a great respect, at the thought of how much 
those prizes had cost all those workingmen, 
fathers of families, full of care; how much toil 
added to their labors, how many hours snatched 
from their sleep, of which they stand in such great 
need, and what efforts of minds not used to study, 
and of huge hands made clumsy with work ! 

A factory hoy passed, and it was evident that 
his father had lent him his jacket for the occa- 
sion, for his sleeves hung down so that he was 
forced to turn them hack while on the stage, in 
order to receive his prize : and many laughed ; hut 
the laugh was speedily stifled by the applause. 
Next came an old man with a bald head and a 
white heard. Several artillery soldiers passed, 
from among those who attended evening school 
in our schoolhouse ; then came custom-house 
guards and policemen, from among those who 
guard our schools. 

At the conclusion, the pupils of the evening 
schools again sang the hymn to the dead in the 
Crimea, but this time with so much dash, with a 
strength of affection which came so directly from 
the heart, that the audience hardly applauded at 
all, but went away in deep emotion, slowly and 
quietly. 

In a few moments the whole street was 
thronged. In front of the entrance to the theatre 
was the chimney-sweep, with his prize hook hound 
in red, and all around were gentlemen talking to 
him. Many exchanged greetings from the oppo- 
site side of the street, — workmen, boys, police^ 


MY DEAD SCHOOLMISTRESS. 


347 


men, teachers. My teacher of the second grade 
came out in the midst of the crowd, between two 
artillery men. And there were workmen’s wives 
with babies in their arms, who held in their tiny 
hands their father’s diploma, and exhibited it to 
the crowd in their pride. 


MY DEAD SCHOOLMISTEESS. 

Tuesday, 27th. 

While we were at the Theatre Vittorio Eman- 
uele, my poor schoolmistress died. She died at 
two o’clock, a week after she had come to see my 
mother. The principal came to the school yes- 
terday morning to announce it to us; and he 
said : — 

Those of you who were her pupils know how 
good she was, how she loved her boys: she was a 
mother to them. Now, she is no more. For a 
long time a terrible malady has been sapping her 
life. If she had not been obliged to work to earn 
her bread, she could have taken care of herself, 
and perhaps recovered. At all events, she could 
have prolonged her life for several months, if 
she had obtained a leave of absence. But she 
wished to remain among her boys to the very last 
day. On the evening of Saturday, the seven- 
teenth, she took leave of them, with the certainty 
that she should never see them again. She gave 
them good advice, kissed them all, and went away 
sobbing. No one will ever see her again. Re- 
member her, my boys ! ” 


348 


JUNE. 


Little Precossi, who had been one of her pupils 
in the upper primary, dropped his head on his 
desk and began to cry. 

Yesterday afternoon, after school, we all went 
together to the house of the dead woman, to ac- 
company her body to church. There was a hearse 
in the street, with two horses, and many people 
were waiting, and conversing in a low voice. 
There was the principal, and all the masters and 
mistresses from our school, and from the other 
schoolhouses where she had taught in bygone 
years. There were nearly all the little children 
in her classes, led by the hand by their mothers, 
who carried tapers; and there were a very great 
many from the other classes, and fifty scholars 
from the Baretti School, some with wreaths in 
their hands, some with bunches of roses. 

A great many bouquets of fiowers had already 
been placed on the hearse, upon which was fas- 
tened a large wreath of acacia, with an inscrip- 
tion in black letters: The old pupils of the fourth 
grade to their mistress. And under the large 
wreath a little one was suspended, which the ba- 
bies had brought. Among the crowd- were seen 
many servant-women, who had been sent by their 
mistresses with candles; and there were also two 
serving-men in livery, with lighted torches; and 
a wealthy gentleman, the father of one of the mis- 
tress’s scholars, had sent his carriage, lined with 
blue satin. All were crowded together near the 
door. Several girls were wiping away their tears. 

We waited for a while in silence. At length 
the casket was brought out. Some of the little 


MY DEAD SCHOOLMISTRESS 


349 


ones began to cry loudly when they saw the cof^- 
fin put into the hearse, and one began to shriek, 
as though he had only then realized that his mis- 
tress was dead; and he was seized with such a 
convulsive fit of sobbing, that they were obliged 
to carry him away. 

The procession got slowly into line and set out. 
First came the daughters of the Ritiro della Con- 
cezione, dressed in green; then the daughters of 
Maria, all in white, with a blue ribbon; then the 
priests; and behind the hearse, the masters and 
mistresses, the tiny scholars of the upper primary, 
and all the others; and, at the end of all, the 
crowd. People came to the windows and to the 
doors, and on seeing all those boys, and the 
wreath, they said, It is a schoolmistress.^’ Even 
some of the ladies who went with the smallest 
children wept. 

When the church was reached, the casket was 
removed from the hearse, and carried to the mid- 
dle of the nave, in front of the great altar: the 
mistresses laid their wreaths on it, the children 
covered it with flowers, and the people all about, 
with lighted candles in their hands, began to 
chant the prayers in the vast and gloomy church. 
Then, all of a sudden, when the priest had said 
the last amen, the candles were extinguished, and 
all went away in haste, and the mistress was Jeft 
alone. Poor mistress, who was so kind to me, 
who had so much patience, who had toiled for so 
many years! She has left to her scholars her 
little books and everything which she possessed, 
— to one an inkstand, to another a little picture. 


350 


JUNE. 


Two days before her death, she said to the head- 
master that he was not to allow the smallest of 
them to go to her funeral, because she did not 
wish them to cry. 

She has done good, she has suffered, she is dead ! 
Poor mistress, left alone in that dark church! 
Farewell! Farewell forever, my kind friend, sad 
and sweet memory of my childhood! 


THANKS. 


Wednesday, 28th. 

My poor schoolmistress wanted to finish her 
year of school: she departed only three days be- 
fore the end of the lessons. Day after to-mor- 
row we go once more to the schoolroom to hear 
the reading of the monthly story. The Shipwreck, 
and then — it is over. On Saturday, the first of 
July, the examinations begin. And then another 
year, the fourth, is past ! If my mistress had not 
died, it would have passed well. 

I thought over all that I had known on the pre- 
ceding October, and it seems to me that I know 
a good deal more: I have so many new things in 
my mind. I can say and write what I think bet- 
ter than I could then; I can also do the sums of 
many grown-up men who know nothing about it, 
and help them in their affairs. I understand 
much more: I remember nearly everything that 
I read. I am satisfied. 


THANKS. 


351 


But how many people have urged me on and 
helped me to learn, one in one way, and another 
in another, at home, at school, in the street, — 
everywhere where I have been and where I have 
seen anything! And now, I thank you all. 

I thank you first, my good teacher, for having 
been so indulgent and affectionate with me; for 
you every new acquisition of mine was a labor, 
for which I now rejoice and of which I am proud. 
I thank you, Derossi, my admirable friend, for 
your prompt and kind explanations, for you have 
made me understand many of the most difficult 
things, and overcome stumbling-blocks at exam- 
inations; and you, too, Stardi, you brave and 
strong boy, who have showed me how a will of iron 
succeeds in everything; and you, kind, good Gar- 
rone, who make all those who know you kind and 
good too; and you too, Precossi and Coretti, who 
have given me an example of courage in suffering, 
and of serenity in toil. I return thanks to you, 
and thanks to all the rest. 

But above all, I thank you, my father, my first 
teacher, my first friend, who have given me so 
many wise counsels, and taught me so many 
things, while you were working for me, always 
concealing your sadness from me, and seeking in 
all ways to render study easy, and life beautiful 
to me; and you, sweet mother, my beloved and 
blessed guardian angel,, who have tasted all my 
joys, and suffered all my bitternesses, who have 
studied, worked, and wept with me, with one hand 
on my brow, and with the other pointing me to 
Heaven. I kneel before you, as when I was a 


352 


JUNE). 


little child; 1 thank you for all the tenderness 
which you have instilled into my mind through 
twelve years of sacrifices and of love. 


THE SHIPWEECK. 

{Last Monthly Story.) 

One morning in the month of December, sev- 
eral years ago, there sailed from the port of Liv- 
erpool a huge steamer, which had on board two 
hundred persons, including a crew of seventy. 
The captain and nearly all the sailors were Eng- 
lish. Among the passengers there were several 
Italians, — three gentlemen, a priest, and a com- 
pany of musicians. The steamer was bound for 
the island of Malta. The weather was threaten- 
ing. 

Among the third-class passengers forward, was 
an Italian lad of twelve, small for his age, but 
robust; a bold, handsome, stern face, of Sicilian 
type. He was alone near the fore-mast, seated 
on a coil of cordage, beside a well-worn valise, 
which contained his effects, and upon which he 
kept a hand. His complexion was brown, and his 
black and wavy hair descended to his shoulders. 
He was meanly clad, and had a tattered mantle 
thrown over his shoulders, and an old leather 
pouch on a cross-belt. He gazed thoughtfully 
about him at the passengers, the ship, the sailors 
who were running past, and at the restless sea. 


THE SHIPWRECK. 


353 


He had the appearance of a boy who had lately 
gone through a great family sorrow, — the face of 
a child, the expression of a man. 

A little after their departure, one of the steam- 
er^s crew, an Italian with gray hair, made his ap- 
pearance on the bow, holding by the hand a little 
girl; and coming to a halt in front of the little 
Sicilian, he said : — 

Here's a travelling companion for you, 
Mario.’^ Then he went away. 

The girl seated herself on the pile of cordage 
beside the boy. They looked at each other. 

“ Where are you going? asked the Sicilian. 

The girl replied : To Malta on the way to 

Naples.^^ Then she added : I am going to see 

my father and mother, who are expecting me. 
My name is Giulietta Faggiani.” 

The boy said nothing. 

After the lapse of a few minutes, he drew some 
bread from his pouch, and some dried fruit; the 
girl had some biscuits : they began to eat. 

Look sharp there ! shouted the Italian 
sailor, as he passed rapidly ; a lively time is at 
hand ! 

The wind continued to increase, the steamer 
pitched heavily; but the two children, who did 
not suffer from seasickness, paid no heed to it. 
The little girl smiled. She was about the same 
age as her companion, but was considerably taller, 
brown of complexion, slender, somewhat sickly, 
and dl’essed very plainly. Her hair was short and 
curling, she wore a red kerchief over her head, 
and silver rings in her ears. 


354 


JUNE. 


While they ate, they talked about themselves 
and their affairs. The boy had lost both father and 
mother. The father, an artisan, had died a few 
days previously in Liverpool, leaving him alone; 
and the Italian consul had sent him back to his 
country, to Palermo, where he had some distant 
relatives. 

The little girl had been taken to London, the 
year before, by a widowed aunt, who was very 
fond of her, and to whom her parents — poor 
people — had given her for a time, trusting in the 
promise of an inheritance. But the aunt had 
died a few months later, run over by an omnibus, 
without leaving a centesimo; and then she too 
had had recourse to the consul, who had shipped 
her to Italy. Both had been recommended to 
the care of the Italian sailor. 

So,^’ concluded the little maid, my father 
and mother thought that I would return rich, and 
instead I am returning poor. But they will love 
me all the same. And so will my brothers. I 
have four, all small. I am the oldest at home. 
I dress them. They will be glad to see me. I 
will come in on tiptoe — the sea is ugly ! 

Then she asked the boy : And are you going 
to stay with your relatives? 

‘^Yes — if they want me.’^ 

Do they not love you? ” 

I donT know.” 

shall be thirteen at Christmas,” said the 

girl. 

Then they began to talk about the sea, and the 
people on board around them. They remained 


THE SHIPWRECK. 


355 


near each other all day, exchanging a few words 
now and then. The passengers thought them 
brother and sister. The girl knitted at a stock- 
ing, the boy meditated, the sea continued to grow 
rougher. At night, as they parted, the girl said 
to Mario, Sleep well.^’ 

No one will sleep well, my poor children!’’ 
exclaimed the Italian sailor as he ran past, in an- 
swer to a call from the captain. The boy was on 
the point of replying with a good night ” to his 
little friend, when an unexpected dash of water 
dealt him a violent blow, and flung him against 
a seat. 

Dear me, you are bleeding ! ” cried the girl, 
running to him. The passengers who were mak- 
ing their escape below, paid no heed to them. The 
child knelt down beside Mario, who had been 
stunned by the blow, wiped the blood from his 
brow, and pulling the red kerchief from her hair, 
she bound it about his head, then pressed his head 
to her breast in order to knot the ends, and thus 
received a spot of blood on her yellow dress just 
above the girdle. Mario shook himself and rose: 

^^Are you better? ” asked the girl. 

I no longer feel it,” he replied. 

Sleep well,” said Giulietta. 

Good night,” responded Mario. And they de- 
scended two sets of steps to their dormitories. 

The sailor’s prediction proved correct. Before 
they could get to sleep, a frightful tempest had 
broken loose. It was a sudden onslaught of 
furious billows, which in the course of a few 
minutes split one mast, and carried away three 


JUNE. 


m 

boats that were suspended to the falls, and four 
cows on the how, like leaves. On board the 
steamer there arose a confusion, a terror, an up- 
roar, a tempest of shrieks, wails, and prayers, suffi- 
cient to make the hair stand on end. The storm 
continued in fury all night. At daybreak it was 
still increasing. The formidable waves dashing 
the craft transversely, broke over the deck, and 
smashed, split, and hurled everything into the 
sea. The platform which screened the engine was 
destroyed, and the water dashed in with a terrible 
roar; the fires were put out; the engineers fled; 
huge and raging streams forced their way every- 
where. A voice of thunder shouted : — 

To the pumps! 

It was the captain’s voice. The sailors rushed 
to the pumps. But a sudden burst of the sea, 
striking the vessel on the stern, demolished bul- 
warks and hatchways, and sent a flood within. 

All the passengers, more dead than alive, had 
taken refuge in the grand saloon. At last the 
captain appeared. 

“ Captain 1 Captain 1 ” they all shrieked to- 
gether. What is taking place? Where are we? 
Is there any hope? Save us! ” 

The captain waited until they were silent, then 
said coolly ; Let us be resigned.” 

One woman uttered a cry of Mercy ! ” No one 
else could give vent to a sound. Terror had 
frozen them all. A long time passed thus, in a 
silence like that of the grave. All gazed at each 
other with blanched faces. The sea continued to 
rage and roar. The vessel pitched heavily. At 


THE SHIPWRECK. 


357 


one moment the captain attempted to launch one 
life-boat; five sailors entered it. The boat sank; 
the waves turned it over, and two of the sailors 
were drowned, among them the Italian. The 
others contrived with difficulty to catch hold of 
the ropes and draw themselves up again. 

After this, the sailors themselves lost all 
courage. Two hours later, the vessel was sunk in 
the water to the port-holes. 

A terrible scene was presented meanwhile on 
the deck. Mothers pressed their children to their 
breasts in despair. Friends embraced and bade 
each other farewell. Some went down into the 
cabins that they might die without seeing the sea. 
One passenger shot himself in the head with a 
pistol, and fell headlong down the stairs to the 
cabin, where he expired. Many clung frantically 
to each other. Women writhed in convulsions. 
Above all was heard a chorus of sobs, of infantile 
laments, of strange and piercing voices. And here 
and there persons stood motionless as statues, in 
stupor, with eyes dilated and sightless, — faces of 
corpses and madmen. The two children, Giulietta 
and Mario, clung to a mast and gazed at the sea 
with staring eyes, as though senseless. 

The sea had calmed a little; but the vessel con- 
tinued to sink slowly. Only a few minutes re- 
mained to them. 

Launch the long-boat ! shouted the captain. 

A boat, the last that remained, was thrown into 
the water, and fourteen sailors and three passen- 
gers got into it. 

The captain remained or bo^rd, 


358 


JUNE. 


Come with us ! ” they shouted to him from 
below. 

I must die at my post,” replied the captain. 

We shall meet a vessel,” the sailors cried; we 
shall be saved ! Come down ! you are lost ! ” 

I shall remain.” 

There is room for one more ! ” shouted the 
sailors, turning to the other passengers. A 
woman ! ” 

A woman advanced, aided by the captain; but 
on seeing the distance at which the boat lay, she 
did not have the courage to leap down, but fell 
back upon the deck. The other women had nearly 
all fainted, and were as dead. 

“A boy ! ” shouted the sailors. 

At that shout, the Sicilian lad and his com- 
panion, who had remained up to that moment 
petrified in a supernatural stupor, were suddenly 
aroused again by a violent instinct to save their 
lives. They left the mast, and rushed together to 
the side of the vessel, shrieking : “ Take me ! ” 

and trying in turn, to drive the other back, like 
furious beasts. 

The smaller ! ” shouted the sailors. The 
boat is overloaded ! The smaller ! ” 

On hearing these words, the girl dropped her 
arms, as though struck by lightning, and stood 
motionless, staring at Mario with lustreless eyes. 

Mario looked at her for a moment, — saw the 
spot of blood on her bodice, — remembered — . 
The gleam of a divine thought flashed across his 
face. 

The smaller ! ” shouted the sailors again im- 
patiently, ^^We are going!” 


THE SHIPWRECK. 


359 


And then Mario^ with a voice which no longer 
seemed his own, cried : She is the lighter ! It is 
for you, Giulietta! You have a father and mother! 
I am alone ! I give you my place ! Go down ! 

Throw her into the sea ! shouted the sailors. 

Mario seized Giulietta by the body, and threw 
her into the sea. 

The girl uttered a cry and made a splash; a 
sailor seized her by the arm, and dragged her into 
the boat. 

The boy remained at the vessel’s side, with his 
head held high, his hair streaming in the wind, — 
motionless, tranquil, sublime. ' 

The boat moved off just in time to escape the 
whirlpool made by the vessel as it sank, and which 
threatened to overturn it. 

Then the girl, who had been stunned until that 
moment, raised her eyes to the boy, and burst into 
a storm of tears. 

Good-bye, Mario 1 ” she cried, amid her sobs, 
with her arms outstretched towards him. Good- 
bye 1 Good-bye 1 Good-bye ! ” 

Good-bye ! ” replied the boy, raising his hand. 

The boat went swiftly away across the troubled 
sea, beneath the dark sky. No one on board the 
vessel shouted any longer. The water was lapping 
the edge of the deck. 

Suddenly the boy fell on his knees, with his 
hands folded and his eyes raised to heaven. 

The girl covered her face. 

When she raised it again, she cast a glance over 
the sea. 

The vessel was gone. 


360 


JULY. 


JULY. 


THE LAST PAGE FKOM MY MOTHER. 

Saturday, 1st. 

So the year has come to an end, Enrico, and it is 
well that you should be left on the last day with the 
image of the sublime child, who gave his life for his 
friend. You are now about to part from your teach- 
ers and companions, and I must impart to you some 
sad news. The separation will last not three months, 
but forever. Your father, for reasons connected with 
his profession, is obliged to leave Turin, and we are 
all to go with him. 

We shall go next autumn. You will have to enter 
a new school. You are sorry for this, are you not? 
For I am sure that you love your old school, where 
twice a day, for the space of four years, you have 
felt the pleasure of working; where for so long a 
time, you have seen, at stated hours, the same boys, 
tlie same teachers, the same parents, and your own 
father or mother awaiting you with a smile; your 
old school, where your mind first unclosed, where 
you have found so many kind companions, where 
every word that you have heard has had your good 
for its object, and where you have not suffered a 
single trial which has not been useful to you! 

Then bear this affection with you, and bid the boys 
a hearty farewell. Some of them will undergo mis- 


THE EXAMINATIONS. 


361 


fortunes, they will soon lose their fathers and 
mothers; others will die young; others, perhaps, will 
nobly shed their blood in battle; many will become 
brave and honest workmen, the fathers of good and 
industrious workmen like themselves; and who knows 
whether there may not also be among them one who 
will render great services to his country, and make 
his name glorious. Then part from them with affec- 
tion; leave a portion of your soul here, in this great 
family into which you entered as a baby, and from 
which you emerge a young lad, and which your father 
and mother loved so dearly, because you were so 
much beloved by it. 

School is a mother, my Enrico. It took you from 
my arms when you could hardly speak, and now it 
returns you to me, strong, good, studious; blessings 
on it, and may you never forget it more, my son. Oh, 
it is impossible that you should forget it! You will 
become a man, you will make the tour of the world, 
you will see immense cities and wonderful monu- 
ments, and you will remember many among them; 
but that modest white edifice, with those closed 
shutters and that little garden, where the first fiower 
of your intelligence budded, you will remember until 
the last day of your life, as I shall remember the 
house in which I heard your voice for the first time. 

Your Mother. 


THE EXAMINATIONS. 

Tuesday, 4th. 

Here are the examinations at last! Nothing 
else is to be heard, in the streets in the vicinity 


362 


JULY. 


of the school, from boys, fathers, mothers, and 
even tutors; examinations, points, themes, aver- 
ages, dismissals, promotions: all utter the same 
words. Yesterday morning there was composi- 
tion; this morning there is arithmetic. It was 
touching to see all the parents, as they took their 
sons to school, giving them their last advice in the 
street, and many mothers went with their sons to 
their seats, to see whether the inkstand was filled, 
and to try their pens, and they still continued to 
hover round the entrance, and to say : — 

“ Courage ! Attention ! I entreat you.^’ 

Our assistant master was Coatti, the one with 
the black beard, who mimics the voice of a lion, 
and never punishes any one. There were boys who 
were white with fear. When the teacher broke 
the seal of the letter from the town-hall, and 
drew out the problem, not a breath was audible. 
He read it loudly, staring now at one, now at an- 
other, with terrible eyes; but we knew that had 
he been able to announce the answer also, so 
that we might all get promoted, he would have 
been delighted. 

After an hour of work many began to grow 
weary, for the problem was difficult. One cried. 
Crossi dealt himself blows on the head. And 
many of them are not to blame, poor boys, for 
not knowing, for they have not had much time 
to study, and have been neglected by their parents. 
But Providence was at hand. You snould have 
seen Derossi, and what trouble he took to help 
them; how ingenious he was in getting a figure 
passed on, and in suggesting an answer, without 


THE EXAMINATIONS. 


363 


allowing himself to be caught; so anxious for all 
that he appeared to he our teacher himself. Gar- 
rone, too, who is strong in arithmetic, helped all 
he could; and he even assisted N’obis, who, find- 
ing himself in a quandary, was quite gentle. 

Stardi remained motionless for more than an 
hour, with his eyes on the problem, and his fists 
on his temples, and then he finished the whole 
thing in five minutes. The master made his 
round among the benches, saying : — 

Be calm ! Be calm ! 1 advise you to be 

calm ! 

And when he saw that any one was discouraged, 
he opened his mouth, as though about to devour 
him, like a lion, in order to make him laugh and 
inspire him with courage. Towards eleven o’clock, 
peeping down through the blinds, I saw many 
parents pacing the street in their impatience. 
There was Precossi’s father, in his blue blouse, 
who had deserted his shop, with his face still quite 
black. There was Crossi’s mother, the vegetable- 
vendor; and Nelli’s mother, dressed in black, who 
could not stand still. 

A little before midday, my father arrived and 
raised his eyes to my window; my dear father! 
At noon we had all finished. And it was a sight 
at the close of school ! Every one ran to meet the 
boys, to ask questions, to turn over the leaves of 
the copy-books to compare them with the work 
of their comrades. 

^^How many sums? What is the total? And 
subtraction? And the answer? And the marking 
off of decimals?” 


364 


JULY. 


All the masters were running about, summoned 
in a hundred directions. 

My father took from my hand the rough copy, 
looked at it, and said, Very well, indeed.” 

Beside us was the blacksmith, Precossi, who 
was also inspecting his son’s work, but rather un- 
easily, and not comprehending it. He turned to 
my father : — 

Will you do me the favor to tell me the 
total? ” 

My father read the number. The other gazed 
and reckoned. Brave little one ! ” he exclaimed, 
in perfect content. x\nd my father and he looked 
at each other for a moment with a kindly smile, 
like two friends. My father offered his hand, and 
the other shook it; and they parted, saying, “ Un- 
til the oral examination.” 

Until the oral examination.” 

After walking a few paces, we heard a falsetto 
voice which made us turn our heads. It was the 
blacksmith singing. 


THE LAST EXAMINATION. 

Friday, 7th. 

This morning we had our oral examinations. 
At eight o’clock we were all in the schoolroom, 
and at a quarter past they began to call us, four 
at a time, into the big hall, where there was a 
large table covered with a green cloth. Around it 
were seated the principal and four other teachers. 


THE LAST EXAMINATION. 


365 


among them our own. I was one of the first called 
out. 

Dear teacher! how plainly I saw this morning 
that you are really fond of us! While they were 
questioning the others, he had no eyes for any one 
hut us. He was troubled when we were uncertain 
in our replies; he grew serene when we gave a 
fine answer; he heard everything, an^made us a 
thousand signs with his hand and head, to say to 
us, Good ! — no ! — pay attention ! — slower ! — 
courage ! ” 

He would have suggested everything to us, had 
he been able to talk. If the fathers of all these 
pupils had been in his place, one after the other, 
they could not have done more. I could have 
cried Thank you ! ten times over, in the face 
of them all. And when the other masters said to 
me, “ That is well ; you may go,^^ his eyes beamed 
with pleasure. 

I returned at once to the schoolroom to wait for 
my father. Nearly all were still there. I sat 
down beside Garrone. I was not at all cheerful; 
I was thinking that it was the last time that we 
should be near each other for an hour. I had not 
yet told Garrone that I should not go through the 
fourth grade with him, that I was to leave Turin 
with my father. He knew nothing. And he sat 
there, doubled up together, with his big head 
resting on the desk, making ornaments round the 
photograph of his father, who was dressed like a 
machinist, and who is a tall, large man, with a hull 
neck and a serious, honest look, like himself. And 
as he sat thus bent together, with his blouse a little 


366 


JULY. 


open in front, I saw on his bare and robust breast 
the gold cross which Nelli’s mother had presented 
to him, when she learned that he had protected 
her son. But I must tell him sometime that I 
was going away. So I said : — 

Garrone, my father is going away from Turin 
this autumn, for good.” 

He asked me if I were going, also. I replied 
that I was. 

‘‘ You will not go through the fourth grade with 
us? ” he said. 

I answered, “ No.” 

He did not speak for a while, but went on with 
his drawing. Then, without raising his head, he 
inquired : — 

“And shall you remember your comrades of the 
third grade? ” 

“ Yes,” I told him, “ all of them; but you more 
than all the rest. Who can forget you? ” 

He looked at me fixedly and seriously, with a 
gaze that said a thousand things, but he uttered 
no word. He only offered me his left hand, pre- 
tending to continue his drawing with the other; 
and I pressed it between mine, — that strong and 
loyal hand. At that moment the teacher entered 
hastily, with a red face, and said, in a low, quick 
voice, with a joyful intonation: — 

“ Good, all is going well now, let the rest come 
forward ; bravi, boys ! Courage ! I am extremely 
well satisfied.” 

And, in order to show us his contentment, and 
to cheer us, as he went out in haste, he made a 
motion of stumbling and of catching at the wall. 


FAREWELL. 


367 


to prevent a fall; he whom we had never seen 
laugh! The thing appeared so strange, that, in- 
stead of laughing, we were dumbfounded ; all 
smiled, hut no one laughed. 

Well, I do not know, — that act of childish joy 
caused both pain and tenderness. All his reward 
was that moment of cheerfulness, — it was the com- 
pensation for nine months of kindness, patience, 
and even sorrow! For that he had toiled so long; 
for that he had so often gone to give lessons to 
a sick hoy, poor teacher ! That and nothing more 
was what he demanded of us, in exchange for so 
much affection and so much care! 

And, now, it seems to me that I shall always 
see him in that act, when 1 recall him through 
many years ; and when 1 have become a man, if he 
be alive, and we meet, 1 shall tell him about that 
deed which touched my heart; and I shall give 
him a kiss on his white head. 


FAREWELL. 

Monday, 10th. 

At one o^clock we all assembled once more for 
the last time at the school, to hear the results of 
the examinations, and to take our little promo- 
tion-books. The street was thronged with parents, 
who had even invaded the big hall, and many had 
made their way into the class-rooms, pushing up 
as far as the master’s desk. In our room they 
filled the entire space between the wall and the 
front benches. 


368 JULY. 

There were Garrone^s father, Derossi’s mother, 
the blacksmith Precossi, Coretti, Signora Nelli, 
the vegetable-vendor, the father of the “ little 
mason,^^ Stardi^s father, and many others whom 
I had never seen; and on all sides could be heard 
a whispering and a hum, that seemed to come 
from the square outside. 

The teacher entered, and a deep silence ensued. 
He had the list in his hand, and began to read at 
once. 

“Abatucci, promoted, sixty seventieths. Archini, 
promoted, fifty-five seventieths.” — The little 
mason ” promoted ; Cross! promoted. Then he 
read loudly : — 

“ Ernesto Derossi, promoted, seventy seven- 
tieths, and the first prize.” .r 

All the parents who were there. — and they all 
knew him — said : Bravo, bravo, Derossi ! ” 

And he shook his golden curls, with his easy 
and beautiful smile, and looked at his mother, 
who waved to him with her hand. 

Garoffi, Garrone, and the Calabrian promoted. 
Then three or four sent back; and one of them 
began to cry because his father, who was at the 
entrance, made a menacing gesture at him. But 
the master said to the father : — 

“ No, sir, excuse me; it is not always the boy’s 
fault; it is often his misfortune. And that is the 
case here.” Then he read : — 

“ Nelli, promoted, sixty-two seventieths.” His 
mother sent him a kiss from her fan. Stardi, pro- 
moted, with sixty-seven seventieths! but, at hear- 
ing this fine fate, he did not even smile, or remove 


FAREWELL. 


369 


his fists from his temples. The last was Votini, 
who had come very finely dressed and brushed, — 
promoted. After reading the last name, the master 
rose and said : — 

“ Boys, this is the last time that we shall find 
ourselves assembled together in this room. We 
have been together a year, and now we part good 
friends, do we not? I am sorry to part from you, 
my dear boys.^^ He interrupted himself, then he 
resumed : If I have sometimes failed in patience, 

if sometimes, without intending it, I have been 
unjust, or too severe, forgive me.^^ 

“ Ho, no ! cried the parents and many of the 
scholars, — You have ever been kind!^^ 

Forgive me,’’ repeated the master, “ and think 
well of me. Next year you will not be with me; 
but I shall see you again, and you will always 
abide in my heart. Farewell until we meet again, 
boys ! ” 

So saying, he stepped forward among us, and 
we all offered him our hands, as we stood up on 
the seats, and grasped him by the arms, and by 
the skirts of his coat. Many kissed him; fifty 
voices cried : — 

Farewell until we meet again, teacher ! — 
We thank you, teacher! — May your health be 
good ! — Eemember us I ” 

When I went away, I felt oppressed by the com- 
motion. We all ran out confusedly. Boys were 
coming from all the other class-rooms also. There 
was a great mixing and tumult of boys and parents, 
bidding the masters and the mistresses good-bye, 
and exchanging greetings among themselves. The 


370 


JULY. 


mistress with the red feather had four or five 
children close to her, and twenty around her, de- 
priving her of breath; and they had half torn off 
the little nun’s bonnet, and had thrust a dozen 
bunches of flowers in the button-holes of her black 
dress, and in her pockets. Many were mak- 
ing much of Eobetti, who had that day, for the 
first time, abandoned his crutches. On all sides 
one could hear: — 

Good-bye until next year! — Until the twen- 
tieth of October ! ” 

We greeted each other, too. Ah! now all dis- 
agreements were forgotten! Votini, who had al- 
ways been so jealous of Derossi, was the first to 
throw himself on him with open arms. I em- 
braced the little mason,” and kissed him, just at 
the moment when he was making me his last hare’s 
face, dear boy ! I embraced Precossi. I embraced 
Garoffi, who announced to me the approach of his 
last lottery, and gave me a little paper weight of 
majolica, with a broken corner. I said farewell to 
all the others. It was fine to see poor Nelli clinj:- 
ing to Garrone, so that he could not be taken 
from him. All crowded around Garrone, and it 
was, ‘‘Farewell, Garrone! — Good-bye until we 
meet again ! ” And they touched him, and pressed 
his hands, and made much of him, that brave, 
noble boy. His father was perfectly amazed, as 
he looked on and smiled. 

Garrone was the last one whom I embraced in 
the street, and I stifled a sob against his breast. 
He kissed my brow. Then I ran to my father 
and mother. 


FAREWELL. 


371 


My father asked me : Have you spoken to all 
of your comrades? ” 

I replied that I had. 

If there is any one of them whom you have 
wronged, go and ask his pardon, and beg him to 
forget it. Is there no one?” 

No one,” I answered. 

Farewell, then,^’ said my father with a voice 
full of emotion, bestowing a last glance on the 
schoolhouse. 

Farewell ! ” my mother repeated. 

I could not say anything. 


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